Foundations
by Salome Weil
Summary: Years after Rachel's and Harvey's deaths Bruce still searches for completion of his life. Will the wisdom a school teacher possesses teach him anything new? Bruce/OC. M for later language and sexual content.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Batman franchise and make absolutely no profit from this story.**

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_The simple act of caring is heroic._

_-Edward Albert_

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Bruce entered the room in his tuxedo, dark brown hair slicked back, jaw line smooth and a woman on each arm. He welcomed his guests with a short remark about the necessity of education and supporting the public school system; the plight of the underpaid teachers and underprivileged children; raised a glass of champagne to toast the administrators present; and then faded gracefully into the background- as if he'd never shown up to begin with. Well, almost.

There were always the women eager to catch his eye and the men eager to catch his wallet present. These detentions were unavoidable. They were what he used to keep up his play-boy billionaire image. Without his little chats with these people, no one would ever see him. The- entirely false- anecdotes of his travels and adventures would never make it around the gossip rags, drawing suspicions away from him. Suspicions about what he was actually doing when no one saw him for days at a time. The tabloids took care of the rest. It was almost too easy to maintain his status in Gotham these days; the careful balance between party boy and savior he'd striven for had been reached. Now all that was necessary was a little maintenance here and there- pruning, if you will.

Even the burning of his family home had been practically forgotten; and though the current mansion bore little resemblance to his parents' home aside from basic structure, reminding others of the disaster; no one thought to ask why Master Wayne had been smoking in bed when no one had ever seen him with a cigarette in his hand.

He was, to all accounts and purposes, leading the life he wanted. It was a life not without dissatisfaction, however. Every corner he turned contained a memory of Rachel or Harvey, though their memories were fewer here than at his penthouse- one reason he hardly stayed in the city anymore. No, he definitely preferred the mansion these days. Never mind that he imagined he saw her or their imagined children at least five times a week. Her death and the consequent death of his heart's deepest, most secret wish had left him a little more empty inside, somehow. And no amount of parties or suitable women, as Alfred called them, could change the fact that he was still grieving. He'd never find another woman like her- someone who knew him well enough to understand what he was, what he was doing. Someone who accepted him.

Of course, Alfred had his own opinions. He hid them very well, but Bruce knew Alfred thought Rachel, though a generous and intelligent woman, was not right for him. She was different than he was, Alfred always said. She was too idealistic. The Batman was, though a hero, violent at his core. Miss Rachel, Alfred said, would never have been able to really accept that side of him, no matter how much she loved him. Well, maybe so. But if there was another kind of woman out there for him, then he had yet to find her.

He was just making his second round of the first floor when one of his fellow billionaires- a board member of Wayne Enterprises- caught his attention and began a conversation. He wanted to know how that last trip to Haiti had been, and if that was what had inspired this latest benefit ball. The man was spouting off about his own tour there some years ago when his wife walked up and began simpering. Bruce's champagne glass was empty- did he need something else to drink? He took the out her remarks gave him and excused himself to head towards the bar. If he was going to deal with another three hours of this drivel, then the answer was yes- he did need something else to drink and it wasn't champagne. He wasn't trying to be frivolous, certainly: the charity tonight- Gotham Public Schools- was an extremely worthy one. In the last few decades everyone from the wealthy down to the middle class had removed their children from the system to place them in private, magnate, charter and even home schools. As a result, attention on the public schools' education system had diminished until no one, not even the state, cared. Test scores were ignored, failing marks became passing grades and everyone graduated, regardless of actual knowledge. Only the truly degenerate were held back and they spent their time getting into trouble instead of worrying about leaving school. After all, when you'd failed freshman English twice and basic algebra three times, job aspects upon graduating weren't so hot.

Bruce understood this only so far- he'd been one of the privileged, and as much as his parents had believed in charity and education, they had gone the private schools and tutors route many of their friends had taken. It hadn't even been a brush with the ghetto that had convinced him to host this particular event. This latest charity was the result of culling through Alfred's prepared list of possible causes and a conversation he'd overheard between Commissioner Gordon and wife about their son's schooling. So it had seemed like a good idea. He'd even invited the Commissioner, though the man had politely declined to attend- a fact he was privately glad for. It wouldn't do to have the man too close to reality. He was smart, and smart men eventually put two and two together.

He wasn't sure who else he'd invited, however, and he realized this anew as he stood at the bar, waiting for his drink. Another guest had come up to introduce herself and he was just making mild small talk when he noticed one of his unrecognizable guests.

She was seated at the opposite end of the bar, speaking with someone he _did_ know- a fellow play-boy. There was an expression of such earnestness upon her face that he couldn't help but stare. Her pale cheeks glowed in the soft lighting of the den and her eyes were wide and interested. She stood out from the rest of the women at the party- her mannerisms were genuine, her smile real- and the proud, broad stance of her shoulders told him she wasn't one of the slouchy models who hung on arms all night.

Interested, he excused himself from the woman at his side and turned to the bartender, his eyes not leaving her face. He was just asking the tender to send his drink down to that end of the bar when she lifted her head suddenly and her eyes met his. Her eyebrows scrunched together briefly and he gave her his signature, tight lipped smile. One of the eyebrows arched in- what? Surprise or dismissal, he couldn't tell, but she looked away towards her conversation partner once more. His drink slid past him as he neared her and stopped at her elbow.

The man at her side didn't ignore his presence and frowned, even as he was extracting himself from her interest.

"Well, it was lovely talking to you. I'll just go see about writing that check, I think," he said before picking up his drink and sauntering away.

The woman gazed after him, perplexed, a dying cry of gratitude hovering on her lips. "Oh, thank you-"

"Rule number one- never thank them," Bruce murmured over his shoulder as he retrieved his drink. His hand brushed her arm and she turned her head towards him, though her body was still angled away. Her eyes narrowed slightly before she shrugged and rounded to face the bar. The shoulders that had been held so proudly before hunched slightly in preparation for defense and he gave her another smile.

"Sorry to startle you."

"You didn't," she lied, though her body relaxed somewhat. He could almost read her mind. _This is the big fish. A check from anyone else is good, a check from Wayne is gold and worth a dozen new libraries, complete with computers and the security to protect them from vandals…maybe even salaries for teachers to lead job training programs for high schoolers…_

"I couldn't help but notice you speaking with Rich- he's an old friend, anything he gives will be worth every moment spent talking to him. Have you known him long?"

"I just met him." She took a sip from her drink, but her eyes were trained on a point over his left shoulder the entire time. He took a drink at the same time, letting his eyes investigate her a little further. Lean, but built- medium height. Short, platinum blond hair cut boyish, but feathered. Grey eyes. She was an unusual looking woman- her body and the line of her jaw all depicted strength, but her eyes and the style of her mannish haircut betrayed softness and vulnerability. Not to mention that she looked divine yet distinctly uncomfortable in the strapless, lilac colored gown she wore.

He put down his drink and continued to study her. Rather than shy away from his observation this time, she stared back.

"What?" she challenged him.

"It's a beautiful style, but the color doesn't quite suit you. You should try a blue or green next time. Bring some color to your eyes."

She was quiet for a moment and he was about to speak again when she opened her mouth.

"It was all I could afford…at such late notice."

So she was one of the last minute guests. He took another sip and smiled again. "This will sound very rude, I'm sure, but I hope you understand. With this many guests-" he made an artless gesture towards the rest of the room and looked at her again pointedly. "Who are you?"

She looked as if she wanted to laugh at that and shrugged again. "Someone you're not interested in." Her eyes flicked away to the other guests in disinterest. Again, he read her thoughts. _Good job. Looks like you're not going to reel this one in tonight. But how can you when he's so obviously playing you? At least the other fellow seemed to care who I was. This man can't even remember who he invited!_

Bruce eyed her and slid his drink a little closer, angling himself so that his right shoulder was just behind her left side. So she could feel the heat from him. He wondered briefly what was wrong with him- he didn't normally stalk innocent guests this way. In the next second he'd discarded the thought and continued the conversation. Things were just heating up, after all. And even a grieving, vengeful Batman had needs. In fact, he wondered that she couldn't tell he was anything _but _disinterested.

"I'm sorry, let me introduce myself. I'm Bruce Wayne."

She lifted her eyes to his and flushed as she realized he'd moved closer and that she now had to tilt her head up and to her left slightly in order to meet his eyes. He shoulders curled forward a little more instinctively, but as soon as they did he could see a resolution cross her face and she forced her back to straighten, bumping into him in the process. The contact sent a trail of goose flesh along her arms, but she didn't move. He felt oddly titillated by the touch.

"I know who you are, Mr. Wayne," she replied.

"Why don't you favor me with your name, then?" he asked smoothly.

She returned his tight lipped smile with one of her own and inclined her head. "I _was_ on the guest list. Or were you unaware of who was invited?"

He fought the urge to spin on his heel and end the ridiculous line the conversation was swiftly taking. He had a strange feeling that whatever trouble he went through to get to know this woman, it would be worth it. "That's one way of putting it. Why don't I take a guess, in that case? Let's see…a charity event for the inner city schools. So you're most likely- an administrator?"

"Good guess-"

"Ah-ha, Miss…"

"-but wrong."

He silently ground his teeth and took another drink, setting it down closer to her arm, bringing his arm alongside hers. She glanced down quickly in alarm, but the expression was gone as quickly as he'd seen it. _Point for me_, he thought.

"Aren't you tired of this game yet?"

She turned her glass in her hands for a moment, as if contemplating something. The motion brought her fingers in contact with the base of his wrist and she went very still. Her eyes flicked up towards his again and then she turned towards him and held up a hand in between them.

"Molly Weil. I'm a teacher."

_Ah-ha_. So that was what she'd meant when she'd said she couldn't afford anything else. It was probably the one formal gown she owned. Maybe even borrowed. His eyes softened unintentionally and, rather than shake the proffered hand, he lifted it and pressed his lips against the bare fingers. Her skin was soft against his and smelled like vanilla. He held the hand a little longer than he meant to and released it quickly.

"Enchanté," he murmured. She blushed and looked away, glancing out over the crowd. Her eyebrows had scrunched together again and he felt himself smiling a little wider.

"So," he continued, "is Molly short for anything?"

"Salome wasn't as popular with the children…or the administration. Made them feel a bit unsafe, for some reason," she replied with a hesitant laugh.

Bruce understood the joke well enough, but he saw no reason for laughter. "I like it. Salome was a strong woman who knew what she wanted. What's to be afraid of?"

"Thanks for leaving out the part where she went crazy and demanded the head of an innocent man for necrophilic purposes."

Bruce waved a hand. "Unsubstantiated myths." This remark earned a genuine laugh from her. "So what do you teach, Salome? P.E.?"

"Please, I'm so used to Molly-"

"Molly, then."

She seemed to relax even more, though her back stayed straight. "And that was another wrong guess. Really, Mr. Wayne, I should be mingling with the other guests…"

"Bruce. And I'm sorry for the assumptions- I didn't take you for a teacher in the first place because you look very…"

She seemed to bristle somewhat and filled in the blank. "Sturdy?"

"Tough, yes." He leaned towards her and lowered his voice. "But in a _very_ feminine way."

She smiled wryly. "Thanks. I teach at Gotham Public. I have to look tough."

"I see. And I still don't know what you teach."

She shrugged again. "I majored in Art and the Humanities in college, but really it's anything required. Faculty numbers are down since the bombing."

It was his turn to frown. "That was over three years ago."

"And people's memories are long when their lives are in danger and the paycheck is short." The look of intense earnestness returned to her face and he realized with a start that she was quite serious about her job and the public education system. It was touching, somehow. He wondered how much Wayne Enterprises had donated to the schools last year and realized quickly, as she continued to talk, that however much it had been it wasn't nearly enough. With a few more well placed questions he had ascertained where the system's biggest problems lay and what kind of a band-aid it would take to hold it together until the internal structure could be fixed.

"Ideally," she continued, "we should have legislation that would wipe out the current matrix and start the entire thing over from the ground up, but that simply isn't feasible. After all, Dent tried that with the political system and look where it got him. No, what we really need is a stringent crusade and the money to back it up. A Batman for our schools, that would help," she added with a sad little laugh.

Bruce stiffened a little at Harvey's name, but forced himself back to his surroundings quickly. He shook his head. "No, I think you're right, Molly. But that's what tonight is all about, right? Raising money."

She sighed and looked around again. "It is, and we are so appreciative of your efforts, Mr.- I mean, Bruce. But unfortunately, most of the checks tonight will be designated for specific projects. Libraries with people's names on them, student centers built in honor of Dr. So-and-so. Those are useful- and helpful, don't get me wrong- but what we really need is a fund for the system. A charity fund where the money is pooled and can then be tapped for each new problem as needed. In fact, even a list of giving suggestions would be better than the haphazard donating that's going on right now. That way the structure that exists can be made a sound enough place to support the libraries that people want built for their grandparents' honor."

"Fascinating," Bruce said. "Tell me again why you aren't in the administration?" He had drawn away from her somewhat as she spoke and she turned away from him now.

"The kids need me. I don't mean me, specifically, but _someone_. There has to be somebody, some adult present in their lives who cares. Who won't leave them for a bigger salary or a safer position." She let out a shaky laugh. "Just last week I broke up a fight between two seventh graders. One of them was carrying a pistol. I didn't realize it at the time I stepped in."

He let out a low whistle and drew closer again. "Impressive."

"Blind luck. It's like that at least a few times a month. I'm just fortunate most of them like me. If I have trouble breaking something up, usually another of my students will step in to help." She subconsciously flexed her upper arms. "I take precautions, but it's a jungle. They're so smart…have so much potential…but it's just wasted most of the time. Squandered on simply trying to survive the system. "

Her voice had gone soft and there was a sadness to her eyes. He put his hand on her other shoulder, drawing her to him gently. "Let me see what I can do for you. Wait here."

Before she had time to react to his half embrace, he had set his drink down beside hers and spun away from her. She turned and watched him walk away, puzzled. He turned back around in mid stride and pointed at her.

"I mean it- don't move." He smiled at her and she returned it tentatively, watching his smile widen in response.

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Two hours later found her still standing at the bar, nursing a third drink. She'd tried to drink slowly- she didn't usually indulge, in fact. Normally she'd have had water after the first drink, but it was a special night. And although she was starting to grow a little antsy about the whereabouts of her host, she read the papers, too. Front to back. She probably knew more about the talented and boyishly handsome Mister Wayne than he knew about her. And when Bruce Wayne told you to stay put, you stayed. Especially when he was getting ready to write a check of his own. Besides, she wasn't a social butterfly and really had no desire to go traipsing about the room, even if it would raise more money. She was quite content to sit at the bar and drink. Well…for another half hour, at least. After that, all bets were off.

During that time Bruce was speaking with first Alfred, then some of his more important board members…trustees, even school administrators. Within those few hours he was able to set in motion a series of meetings on the subject of an education charity headed by Wayne Enterprises. His company would be at the helm of a fund for Gotham's school district in less than a year, if things progressed smoothly- and with Bruce Wayne behind it, things usually did. He was just heading back to the bar area when he saw her again. She had migrated from the bar and was in Rich's grasp again, being twirled about in his arms from the den towards the ball room. The string quartet that had been hired for the first half of the evening had retired and the piano player had replaced them. He was gently spelling out the opening chords of Clair de Lune. Rich looked triumphant and Molly looked uncomfortable, but her cheeks were still glowing. He felt his fingers tighten about the glasses of champagne he'd been carrying back for them to toast with and at that moment she looked over Rich's shoulder and her eyes locked with his. The tight lipped Wayne smile was pasted onto his face. She raised one of her delicate eyebrows at him as if to say, _Well? Are you going to do anything about this or just stand there and take it?_

The glasses were on a passing waiter's tray and he was across the dance floor in seconds. He knew Molly saw him coming; her fingers tightened on Rich's shoulder and the man swung about to see Bruce Wayne headed straight for them. The man managed to extricate himself yet again before Bruce reached them. In another second, he had her in his own arms.

"I thought I told you to stay put," he murmured as he swept her about the floor.

She flushed as he hugged her to him and looked away. "I couldn't help it- I'm not about turn down a dance from a man who just donated twenty thousand to my school."

Bruce scoffed and held her tighter. "Peanuts. Tell me, if you could have anything you wanted from this bunch of apes, what would it be?"

"A fund for the system- I already said that, didn't I…?" Her voice drifted off and she looked up at him, eyes suddenly sparkling. "You can't be serious. You were only gone two hours!"

"Three," he allowed apologetically. "And I'm sorry for that. It's not official, but Wayne Enterprises is going to host some important meetings in the coming months. We should have another fundraiser once things are nearly finalized. I've gotten my key board members to agree to put up the initial sum for founding. It could take as much as a year to settle everything, but…" he smiled and shrugged as she stared up at him in amazement.

"How could you possibly take care of all that?"

"Money makes the world go round," he quipped. "Besides, what's the point of having all this if I can't help out the people who will inherit it?"

She shook her head and he felt her pull away somewhat. He tightened his grip on her waist in response.

"This is…impossible," she whispered. "I feel like Cinderella."

"Cinderella was wearing a dress that matched her eyes," he murmured close to her ear. "But if you stay long enough I can take care of that, too."

She met his eyes, shock registering in them and he wondered what he'd said.

"I see," she said quietly. She was suddenly stiff in his arms.

"Molly?"

"I really- you shouldn't spend all night romancing me, Mr. Wayne. It will be bad for your image."

"It's Bruce, please. What's wrong? What did I do?" he asked, slowing their steps.

She bit her lower lip and continued to look anywhere but at him. "Nothing. I'm just a little overwhelmed by all of this. Your generosity is so unexpected. And after just one conversation…"

"Let me guess. No one's ever really listened before."

She finally met his eyes again and shrugged a little. "You might say that. I'm just a poor school teacher, after all."

"Maybe I have a soft spot for visionaries," he replied. His face was drawing nearer to hers with every step they took, a fact he was trying hard to ignore.

"I'm hardly that," she breathed.

His eyes moved from her lips to the tops of her nervously heaving breasts and back to her eyes. He could feel his cheeks growing red with heat and idly counted how many glasses of champagne he'd had. She was staring back at him, her tongue darting out over her lips, her head turning as though she was looking for a means of escape. He leaned over her, their feet barely moving anymore, stepping side to side in a gentle motion.

The lights in the ballroom had dimmed considerably and the couples who weren't locked in tight embraces were standing to the side or sitting down, hand in hand, champagne and cocktails littered over every surface. The mood was definitely right, and yet…

She looked up at him just as he made the decision to lower his mouth to hers and suddenly, because his attention was focused so intently elsewhere, stepped from his grasp. He stared at her, blinking, startled by the loss of contact. She'd folded her hands in front of her and was smiling blandly.

"Thank you for the dance, Bruce," she said and held out a hand. He looked at it and then took it silently, surprise still evident on his face.

"It was my pleasure, Molly. I hope we can dance again someday."

She inclined her head. "I'm sure we will."

Bruce wasn't sure what had just happened, a fact that would have been comical if he wasn't so damned interested in the woman. But then she was removing her hand and wrapping up their conversation and extracting promises of a phone call and emails from him about the foundation. And in another few minutes she was making her excuses and then saying her good-byes and seeing herself to the door. Alfred walked up beside Bruce and leaned towards him.

"Might I suggest that you were moving too quickly, Master Bruce?"

Bruce turned around and eyed Alfred before striding back towards the heart of the party. "And why would you say that?"

"She is a school teacher; she may have different ideas about courtship. Not to mention that you've essentially become the benefactor of a foundation she's been lobbying towards for some years now. It wouldn't be seemly in her part of the world to be seen with you in a romantic relationship when you're giving her personal cause money…and certainly not so soon after the plans have been made. In fact, she might be worried about your motives for sponsoring such a charity if you try to woo her in the same night."

Bruce spun back around to watch Molly exiting his front doors, his eyes wide with understanding. So that was the problem. She thought he had taken action so quickly just to get her into bed. He paused in his steps.

Had he? He wasn't sure anymore. It was late and he'd had more alcohol than was good for him. Never mind that the Batman would probably be busy with troubles of his own for the next few days…weeks, even. So how could he make it up to the poor woman? He was interested, he couldn't deny that- but at the same time he wasn't sure what had come over him at the party. He could remember the way her eyes, her face, had lit up when talking about her work. She'd displayed such a passion for the schools and her students. Aside from that she had an unusual beauty…maybe- no, probably- he should sleep on it. Despite the balance he'd struck between work and play, his tastes, his needs, seemed to shift from day to day. He might wake up in the morning with no idea why he'd pursued the woman so wholly that evening. Or he might wake up knowing what he wanted out of the next five years of his life. There was no telling. He was simply taking things one day at a time at this point.

He turned back to Alfred.

"I'm going to start my good-byes. See that the guests leave by one, if you will. Feel free to give the instructions to the hired help if you'd like some sleep, yourself."

"I always do, Master Bruce."

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**AN: I was inspired while watching Batman Begins. Thank Heavens they killed off that Rachel chick, paving the way for OCs. I prefer my women strong and independent, thanks much. Not easily captured by buffoons in masks. *scoffscoffscoff***


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Batman franchise (but I wish I owned Mr. Bale!).**

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Bruce did _not_ dream of Molly that night. Instead he was plagued by his usual brand of nightmare, though to be honest, he hadn't had this one in a while: Rachel calling for help while burning alive. Dent's accusatory glares and the bitter curve of his mouth. He woke up in a cold sweat twice that night and finally reached for his bottle of Advil PM before he was able to sleep peacefully for any amount of time.

It was late the next morning when Alfred set a breakfast tray at his knees, judging by the slant of the sun streaming through his windows. Normally he would have placed it on a nearby table or desk, but today he took one look at his master's face and the bottle of pain killers and headed directly to the bed. His jostling and cheery voice woke Bruce up, who groaned and flung an arm over his eyes. One hand groped along the bed covers until it came to the tray and he felt along it for his protein drink.

Alfred raised an eyebrow and scooted the glass forward into his hands.

"Late night, Master Bruce?"

Bruce shook his head and finally sat up in order to bring the drink to his lips. He downed it in a series of swift gulps and set it back onto the tray with a bang. He winced.

"No, Alfred."

"Ah. Nightmares, then."

Bruce eyed him and then picked up the tray, placing it to the side. He swung his legs from the bed and stood up.

"Did I say that?"

"You don't have to, Master Bruce. It's written all over your face. So the lovely Molly Weil did not grace your dreams with her presence then?"

"Since when did you get so nosy about my affairs, Alfred?" Bruce asked as he hit the floor and began his morning exercises.

"Since you began taking sleeping pills," his butler responded. "That's a very healthy breakfast, you know. You should try the rest of it sometime."

Bruce looked up from his push-ups and smiled. "I will after I'm finished here. Is that all for now?"

"Miss Weil did leave her contact information for you, along with several other young women- and a few young men. What shall I do with it?"

"Put it in my office, please."

"Yes, sir. I will leave you to it, then."

Thirty minutes later Bruce had a forkful of the egg-whites, a few spoonfuls of the cantaloupe, and trotted out of his bedroom holding the morning paper in his hands and carrying a piece of whole-grain toast between his teeth. He swept along the upper corridor of the mansion and walked into his office where he took a seat behind his desk and turned on his computer. Well, his desk top. His state-of-the-art military grade test computer that was the size of a school bus lay several feet below him in his caverns.

He smiled to himself and set the paper aside before he discarded the rest of his toast and turned his attention wholly to his inbox. Emails from board members…a few from some of the guests from last night…with a sigh he made his way through the responses and finally picked up the hot pink post-it note Alfred had stuck next to the key board. It was shaped like a rabbit. He smiled. Who in her right mind carried animal shaped post-its around in her purse at a charity fundraiser? Molly Weil, middle school teacher, apparently. Her handwriting was smooth and well trained- not too curvaceous, and there were no incriminating hearts dotting the Is. It was a pleasant script. He quickly opened up a new window and composed an email to her, thanking her for her time and ideas last night. He was just hesitating over whether to invite her for a 'business' meeting over lunch or- better yet- dinner, when Alfred knocked on the door frame and walked inside.

He looked up quickly. "What is it?"

"You have a twelve o'clock interview with that reporter from the ladies' show, Master Bruce. Just reminding you."

"What time is it now?"

"Eleven twenty."

"Shit." He smiled apologetically at Alfred. "At the new Italian place on Forty-seventh, right?"

"Correct. I've taken the liberty of laying out a suit for you."

"Thank you, Alfred."

He reviewed his email to Molly and contemplated it for a few more seconds. Expelling his breath with an angry whoosh he hit the delete button. He would have to figure out what to say to her later. If he was going to court her it had to be exactly the right thing. Alfred had been right; she was different from the other women he knew- even Rachel. Rachel at least had worked with the criminals he brought to justice. They had similar goals in life. Molly, on the other hand…she was working to prevent people from becoming criminals. It was a different mind-set and social order, with its own mores and ideals, despite the fact that their hearts were basically in the same place. He had a feeling that simply being his charming self as he had last night would not be enough to reel her in. She'd demonstrated that by walking away from him just when things were getting interesting.

And he felt quite certain, after his dreams last night, that he wanted to reel her in. He'd spent too long wallowing in past defeats. It was time for him to invest in the living, instead of holding shrift with the dead.

He stood up and made his way from the office, pausing to speak to Alfred again.

"You seem to know a lot about her."

"Miss Weil?"

"Yes. You helped put that guest list together; what do you know that you haven't told me?"

"Master Bruce, if you're interested in this woman I suggest you approach things the old-fashioned way."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Don't subject her to one of your high-tech computer searches. Why not get to know her in a more traditional manner?"

"You mean a date." Bruce stared at Alfred, frowning. "You just said last night that was a bad idea."

"A date doesn't necessarily mean the woman ends up in your bed at the end of the evening, Master Bruce," Alfred replied smugly before sniffing and walking away. "Which car will you be taking?"

Bruce watched him go, a bemused smile on his face. "The Porsche. I'll get it myself."

An hour later, said car sped around a corner and pulled to an abrupt stop at the curb outside the new Italian restaurant on Forty-seventh street. Bruce's tall frame exited the car gracefully and he quickly handed a key to the valet, who eagerly took his place. In a few more seconds he'd swept into the restaurant and found his table easily, making apologies for his tardiness and selecting the finest house wine for the meal. The woman opposite him was dazzled into submission almost immediately.

The first hour of the interview, conducted over an appetizer and then salads, was typical. It wouldn't appear live- it was being taped for airing tomorrow during the show's morning time slot- so they were a little more relaxed about getting things just right. He smiled and was quiet at the appropriate moments and the reporter managed to keep her drool from hitting the table cloth. When the main course arrived, however, questions about his latest event, the charity ball from last night, arose.

"The word is that the event was a huge success- that it even spawned the funding of a new charity headed by Wayne Enterprises."

Bruce raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his drink. He knew word spread quickly whenever he made a move, but this was a bit much, wasn't it? He looked at the woman again and smiled.

"I don't know who you've been talking to, but yes, that is correct. It won't be a singular effort, however. Wayne Enterprises is simply the flagship at the moment. We hope to involve a great many other groups and eventually make it a public non-profit foundation to be used entirely for the support and reform of Gotham Public Schools."

"This is wonderful news, Mr. Wayne, as I'm sure you can imagine. As a parent myself, I understand the difficulty of deciding where to send one's child for education. My husband and I had to choose private school- the situation of our inner city schools is deplorable."

Bruce felt himself bristle a little at her choice of words. Molly wasn't the first who had made it plain to him that it was parents like these who encouraged the state of the system.

"If it is deplorable, as you put it, then it is entirely our own fault- yours and mine, Ms. Turner. If we put our efforts into these schools instead of ignoring them, the situation might be quite different."

The woman's face turned an interesting shade of pink and she glanced down at her notes before moving on. "Well…well…so, how did you come by this idea? What sudden inspiration hit you to start this last night, in the middle of the event? Was it your acquaintance of Molly Weil that encouraged you?"

This earned her another tight-lipped smile. "I was privileged enough to hear opinions and advice from several different people through out the evening. And, being as interested as I have in our local politics and police force in recent years, I have a better understanding from parents who are on a limited income what kind of options they have for their children's educations. Salaries that are too small for the actual work they experience is part of what drove so many officers to go bad to begin with, wouldn't you say?"

"That's very true, Mr. Wayne. But you're avoiding my question. I was asked to do a little research before our interview, as one of my fellow hosts was at your event and you were spotted spending quite a bit of time speaking to Ms. Weil. Would you like to know what I found out?"

"Ms. Turner, did you really ask for an interview so we could talk about a school teacher?"

She smiled at him. "She's not just any school teacher, Mr. Wayne. She was at your event- a last minute invitee who grew up in Gotham's city schools and has spent all her time outside the classroom trying to garner support for reforms in the public school system."

Bruce leaned back in his seat and spread his hands. It was clear this reporter- tv host- what was she again? He gave a small shake of his head. Either way, she wasn't letting it drop. Normally this was the part where he would begin to make references to the time, and shouldn't he be going, but he did want to know what the woman had to say. Aside from that, the more they talked about education, the better publicity it would be for the new foundation, even if it was a risk to involve Molly directly.

"Please, enlighten me," he said with a smile on his face. It was best to be honest in this case- they would never believe anything he said, but if he made it clear he really had only just met her, that might take the heat off his real interest in her.

Ms. Turner's smile grew predatory and she leaned forward. "You really don't know anything about her?"

"Not really, no. She simply struck me as a valuable asset to Gotham's schools and a passionate teacher. She had some excellent advice to give me and is genuinely invested in the future of our public schools. So if you tell me she's been working hard, I believe it. Isn't it about time we start recognizing the people who keep the system running, despite how 'deplorable' you say it is? In fact, I really won't take any credit for the foundation's origins. I spoke to several people last night- they're the brains behind it. I'm only the face of the pocket book, if you will."

Bruce was still congratulating himself as he left the restaurant. He'd managed to learn a little more about Molly, but had steered the conversation away from her personal life and back onto the goals of the fledgling foundation. Surely the interview couldn't cause too much damage to his pursuits- public or personal.

Either way, he didn't have too much time for reflection. The remainder of the day was taken up with a trip to the office, a business dinner, a phone conference with Tokyo and, sure enough, a rendezvous at the Bat-signal. In fact, the news of a Russian mob conglomerate trying to move into Gotham was an unforeseen problem that would keep the Batman busy for three days and caused Bruce Wayne to take an unexpected sojourn in Prague.

His interview, however, did not escape prying eyes and while it made the future investors of the foundation happy, it upset one important party.

* * *

The next morning dawned cloudy and the smog levels over Gotham were through the roof. Molly wasn't sure whether these days were blessings or curses. Her coworkers thought of them as gifts, because while the smog deprived them all of precious oxygen and vital brain cells, it also meant the children were subsequently quiet and less rowdy than usual. She personally hated them because they made her question her ideals. Was that really what it would take to give these kids and this school system a chance? Drugs? It was a sickening thought, but she was certain more than one of her coworkers had questioned it before.

With a determined smile, she pushed open the door of the teacher's lounge and walked in, coffee mug in hand and a forced, "Good morning," on her lips. One of the other teachers glanced up at her.

"Hello, Molly."

"Where is everyone?" she asked, not immediately spotting anyone else.

John tilted his head behind him. "Watching the TV. That talk show they all like. You know."

Molly raised her eyebrows and nodded before pouring herself some hot water for tea. "I know. Complete crap."

She glanced towards the corner the TV sat in and saw a few other teachers seated around it. One of them looked over at her with a funny look on her face.

Molly raised another eyebrow and took a seat at the table next to John. "Grading papers?" she asked.

"Uh-huh. Oh, you might want to be careful- apparently one of the batty women on the show interviewed Wayne about that charity event the other night."

The hand holding the tea bag string stilled and she looked up at him. "Oh?"

"Yeah- they've been discussing his idea for a new foundation for our school system. Sounds a lot like that thing we talked about last year."

One of the women in the corner had stood up and was walking towards them. "And the year before that and the year before that," she added. "In fact," she continued, sitting down across from Molly, "she asked about you specifically and we all know you got an invite at the last minute."

"They even have some pictures from the ball!" one of the other women called out.

"Oh," Molly said quietly. "Well, John, Charlotte, I guess I can't hide it any longer." She looked down at her tea and then back up at her peers. "Guys, it's official, I'm pregnant with Bruce Wayne's child ."

John laughed immediately and the other ladies joined in. Only Charlotte continued to peer at her, a suspicious smile on her face. Molly eyed her in return, taking a few cautious sips of her tea.

"They were interesting photos," Charlotte offered.

Molly shook her head. "He's a philanthropist. Just because a man dances with you doesn't mean he's interested. Don't cheapen this, Charlotte. It's a huge opportunity for our schools, for the children."

The other woman smiled wryly and stood again. "If you say so. But he never denied interest in you, you know."

"Oh, please. Let me see this ridiculous interview-" she stood and walked over to the television, eager to disprove whatever harebrained theories her coworkers were eating up.

By the time her break had ended and the bell rang for the next hour, she was somewhat livid and it was suddenly a good thing that her classes were more subdued than normal. And by lunchtime, every teacher she passed gave her an equally funny look- ranging from flirtation to congratulations to glares that she would sell herself out like that in order to get her stupid fund.

Somewhat livid? No, very livid was more like it.

How dare those bimbo reporters drag her name into it? Of course she wanted to be involved with the thing, but she didn't want her name pasted all over it. And this was exactly why she'd walked away from him that night! She didn't want people to get the wrong idea. She didn't want _him_ to get the wrong idea. Not that it wasn't a little flattering to have people assuming he liked her, but come on! She was a poor school teacher who cut her own hair and had to borrow that gown from her little sister who'd worn it to prom three years ago. She was so not his type. Not that she wanted to be his type, even a little…even if his hands had been strong and cool…even if the fabric of his tuxedo had been smooth against her exposed shoulders.

She ground her teeth and tried to focus on stopping the children from throwing their food at one another.

The whole thing was just…humiliating. And even after one of the other teachers pointed out that it might give her some street cred with her students, she still wasn't satisfied. She'd worked hard to be accepted by her students and had done a damn fine job of it so far- she might be white, but she came from the same place they did. So to think that after one set of photos of her with Bruce Wayne might overtake all her hard work simply because he was _rich_ and that counted more with the kids than anything else…it was infuriating.

She was suddenly glad that he hadn't emailed or phoned her yet. She wasn't sure how she would have reacted just then. She started to hope that any further dealings she had with the start-up would be handled through his secretary or a trustee or administrator…anyone but him. She just couldn't take it right then.

A half peeled orange splattered to a stop at her feet and she signaled to the culprit for a detention. She wished billionaire play-boys were as easy to deal with.

* * *

Two days later Bruce returned to the manor- a little bruised, but nothing his cover story of spelunking in the Czech Republic couldn't handle. Alfred sought him out soon after he'd had his customary shower and handed him his shake, mail and informed him the interview had been TiVo'd and there were three newspapers awaiting him in his office. The functions of Wayne Enterprises, though not beyond Alfred's ken, were no longer his concern, as Lucius Fox took care of the business end of things for Bruce.

Bruce thanked Alfred and shrugged into his robe before he trekked across the upstairs once again. He was just settling down at his desk when Alfred reappeared.

"I forgot to mention, Master Bruce, that if I were you, I wouldn't be too pleased with the interview."

Bruce glanced up from one of the papers and frowned. "Why not?"

"You'll see what I mean if you watch some of the news. I believe it's also mentioned on page three of the society section in Tuesday's paper."

Bruce set Monday's paper down and immediately opened Tuesday's, flipping through the pages until he saw it- a photo in the upper right hand corner of him shaking Molly's hand at the end of the evening. The photo was accompanied by a blurb about the new foundation and guesses as to why the _attractive_ 'Ms. Weil' had been so influential. He frowned again and quickly reached for a remote, turning on the television mounted to a wall of his office.

He was just flipping through the channels to find a news cast when the telephone on his desk rang.

Alfred stepped over and picked it up, listened politely, then lowered it and placed a hand over the receiver.

"It's Station 12, Master Bruce. They heard you arrived at the airport a few hours ago and want to know how soon they can schedule an interview with you and Ms. Weil."

Bruce looked back at him. "With me and- what do they mean?"

"I believe they are under the impression you know where she is at the moment," he replied, raising his eyebrows in a condescending expression.

Bruce covered his mouth and closed his eyes. "They're never this obsessive when I shake the models' hands," he murmured, frustrated.

"If you'll forgive me for pointing out the obvious, Master Bruce, you've never personally headed a charitable foundation for a woman you're not sleeping with before, either. And certainly not a woman who's never appeared in the tabloids." Alfred eyed him critically. "Don't tell me your public persona is really as shallow as you've made it out to be. I thought we got over this phase upon Ms. Dawes' death."

Bruce's eyes shot open and he glared at Alfred before snatching the phone from his hands. "I'll take care of this, thanks. Don't you have some silver to polish or something?"

"Just trying to be helpful," Alfred responded cheekily and sniffed, turning and walking out the door.

Bruce glared after him the whole way and then, confident he'd left, gingerly brought the phone to his ear. Maybe he could still salvage things. Or maybe he just needed to write a very contrite note to Molly. He found himself hoping she wasn't as old-fashioned as Alfred seemed to think.

"Hello, Mr. Daniels, is it? This is Bruce Wayne."

* * *

**AN: When thinking of the television show, picture The View. If you don't know what that is, bless you. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**I own nothing of Batman and will never make money off anything I write here.**

* * *

Hours after Bruce's arrival home Molly was just checking her voicemail in the few minutes she had between the end of classes and the start of after school programs. She was the co-sponsor for a few different clubs- language and arts related, most often- so she wouldn't get home to listen to her messages until closer to nine, sometimes even ten or eleven, at night. Especially with the way play rehearsals had been going lately.

She went through several offers from television stations for interviews, deleting all of them, but stopped her obsessive motions when she heard Bruce's voice.

There was the customary beep followed by, "Hi, Molly, I hope this finds you well. I'm calling to set up a meeting so we can discuss the future of this foundation. I know you want to be involved and have plenty of ideas, so please don't turn me down. We can really use someone like you." There was a pause and then the voice returned, still smooth, but a little more hesitant. "Also, I'm sorry I haven't called to apologize sooner about the media frenzy. I was out of town for a few days and had no idea they would misconstrue my comments this way. I hope you're not too upset by everything that's going on and can accept my apology. Please don't let this keep you from coming on board. We really do need you. Feel free to call me anytime."

There was a click and then her answering machine started talking to her again. Instead of deleting the message, she closed the phone slowly and stared at it for a moment. She screwed up her mouth and worried the inside of her cheek for a moment. One of her hands ran through her hair absentmindedly. The clock on her classroom wall continued to tick loudly into the silence.

What was she doing? She should just delete it and ignore him. Nothing good could come of her meeting with him. Look at what one innocent dance had done! It was ridiculous that he even needed to meet with her in person when he could just as easily teleconference or have his secretaries or butler contact her…

Then again, she really did want to be involved. This project had been a dream of hers for years now, not that she wanted the credit for it. She just knew, having grown up with the system and now working for it, that her expertise could be invaluable. Not to mention he had sounded serious- not like the smug play-boy two steps closer to bedding her that she'd been imagining for the last three days. But he was supposed to sound that way- that confident tone was why he made so much money to play with to begin with! She sighed and ran her hand over her hair several times, thoroughly mussing it.

"Augh!" she exclaimed at no one. Then she opened the phone back up and dialed her voicemail again.

* * *

"We're still receiving disturbing reports, Batman. The shipping logs, the passenger manifests-"

"I took care of it," came Batman's deep, gravelly voice.

"I know, and we're grateful- I'm grateful. Hell, you know we couldn't keep a hold of half the dirty things that go on in this city without you. But whatever you did, it wasn't enough. Things aren't adding up. We think they're maybe in deeper in Gotham than we thought they were. We thought it was just feelers at first, but the reports are indicating that it's possible there was already a branch here. What I'm worried about is if you got the Russians to cut off their contacts with the alleged Gotham branch then what will they do once that group realizes they're on their own?"

"What do you want me to do?"

Commissioner Gordon grimaced and glanced out over the cityscape. "For now, nothing. We're still collecting information. And if there is a group here already they're staying quiet." He shrugged. "The usual, I guess."

"Keep an eye on things, in other words."

Gordon looked back at him apologetically. "I'm sorry I can't be more specific. At least we've got nothing but good cops investigating it this time."

"It's no trouble. I'll be in touch. You know how to find me."

He let Gordon watch him leap from the building this time, but as always, when Gordon couldn't resist running to the edge and peering over, he saw nothing. The sky was as cloudy and overcast as it had been three mornings ago.

* * *

The clock was just nearing nine-thirty when Molly asked the kids to start clearing the set of props. Her co-sponsor of the Drama Club, Robert, gave her a weary thumbs up from across the stage. They were doing Oedipus Rex this quarter, a fact that had raised eyebrows at the board meetings but had resulted in their largest turn out of students in the club yet. Molly suspected the interest had something to do with the incest, murder and mayhem in the play. There was nothing like the Greeks to draw out the nasty, voyeuristic side of teenagers. And although most of the students weren't older than fifteen, they had dug their teeth into the material. Perhaps if Molly had been a teacher in a small town she would have been a little appalled at her own choice of play, but living and teaching in Gotham City, she believed it was important to expose the children to themes they might experience in their own lives in a more constructive, classical manner. For many of them it was a form of therapy.

A few of the boys approached her to ask about the next rehearsal and she answered their questions gladly. One of them looked at her strangely and she gave him a pointed look.

"What is it, Tony?"

"Well…my mom, she uh, was talking to my sister and they said you and Bruce Wayne were dating or something and I just wanted to know if, uh-"

Molly resisted the urge to stamp her foot and interrupted him as gently as possible. Tony was sweet kid who came from a single parent family. His dad had died in a prison fight last year and he hadn't been quite the same since- like his spark for living had vanished. He'd even started to hang out with a different group of friends and it wouldn't have surprised Molly to know that he'd made a few drug runs since the new year. But he'd been showing up for Drama Club somewhat regularly and that meant she still had some influence on him. He wasn't beyond saving…yet.

"I'm not dating him, Tony. You know how we talking Social Studies last week about tabloids? And I know Mr. Williams covered muck-raking in U.S. History this month."

"So they're making up stories," the boy filled in.

"Right."

"But you were at that ball," Selena, another student, said. "There are pictures of you _dancing_ and him kissing your hand."

"We were just being introduced, Selena," Molly repeated, suddenly weary of these games.

One of the older students who'd been held back scoffed and made a crude gesture. "Yeah, right, Miss Weil, we know lust when we see it. PIGSALE, all the way, mother-"

"That's enough, Duwayne!" Molly exclaimed sharply. She put on her tough guy face and stared him down. "As impressed as I am that you managed to pass your quiz on the early Church yesterday, say one more word and that's the last time you'll be speaking through your mouth."

The other kids _Ooooed_ and Duwayne shrugged and grinned, but didn't say anything else. He turned away and continued to help put things away. Molly relaxed a little and focused on Tony again. It was nice to know the rumors hadn't damaged her reputation too much.

Selena looked at her again, still grinning suggestively. "Well, if you were dating him that would be pretty chill."

Molly raised an eyebrow and shook her head. "And why is that?"

"He's super rich- I bet you could get him to give us even more money."

"And then we could finally put on a real show!"

"Yeah, with special effects-"

Molly interrupted them again with a smile. "He's giving us money anyway, guys. And he's getting a lot of his friends to donate too. He doesn't have to be dating me to do that. Quick, what's the word for that?"

Rather than respond, the kids groaned and started putting stuff away again. Tony gave a sad sort of smile and placed his costume on the pile before half waving at Molly and moving towards the stairs.

"Well, thanks, Miss Weil. See you later, I guess."

"Hey, wait a minute, Tony. Are you really going to be at the next rehearsal? I noticed you missed a couple of times last week. We had a hard time without our spotlight guy."

Tony flushed at the faint praise, but mumbled some kind of excuse about his mom and a new job and before she could speak to him any further, he'd fled the sad auditorium that was their school theatre.

Selena shook her head and looked up at Molly. "His momma ain't got a new job. He does."

Molly eyed the girl and helped her fold one of the sheets they were using for a chiton. "He does? Did you finally convince him to help you baby-sit?"

"No- I don't know what he's doing. There are some exchange students at one of the high schools he's hanging with. They're recruiting."

Molly wasn't surprised at the subtle reference to gangs. They were a part of everyday life in the public schools and on the streets and their activities were hardly a secret. But she hadn't heard about exchange students being involved in anything. Selena took the finished cloth and went to stack it with the others before she waved her good-bye and took off after some of her girl friends. Molly watched the rest of the kids swiftly follow and walked across the stage to Robert.

"Did you hear that?" she asked.

"About the recruiting? It's nothing new."

"Yeah, but exchange students?"

Robert looked up from unplugging some of the equipment and shrugged. "Maybe she meant like, a transfer student or something. I don't know, Molly. We've got three major gangs operating out of Gotham already. I don't keep track anymore. We're lucky if we don't lose half of our own students to the violence every year."

Molly mused on the implications of this information and helped wind up some power cords. She began packing them into the lock box and Robert glanced up at her again as he got to his feet.

"Say, that stuff about Wayne…you're not just trying to put the kids off, are you?"

Molly sighed and looked back at him before locking the door of the cabinet and turning to face him. "Really, Robert? You too?"

"Okay, okay. Just asking. But did you really think that your name wouldn't get splashed around, even a little?"

"No. I wasn't aware that one dance or being tapped to help fundraise would automatically put me in-"

"As hip as you are, as tough as you get with the kids and the administration, you're so naïve sometimes."

Molly felt her ire rise again and stalked across the stage and down the steps to the seats where she'd left her things. She snatched up her sweater and shrugged it on. Robert let her go only to follow her as soon as he'd turned off the stage lights. He jogged down the steps and joined her.

"Did I mention you're being way too sensitive about this?"

She snatched up her satchel and spun about to glare at him. "Is it naïve of me to hold everyone else to the same standards of honesty and integrity that I have for myself? Is it _naïve_ to believe that people can be respected for _what_ they do and not _who _they do? If I'm being sensitive, it's for all the right reasons. Stop giving me crap, Rob."

"I'm just saying, what did you expect? He kissed your hand, for Christ's sake. No man does shit like that and then spends half the evening of his own event making the dreams of the woman he's done it to a reality if he's not interested in her. Wise up."

Molly threw a hand up in frustration and walked away from him. "Don't forget to lock the auditorium doors on your way out," she called over her shoulder.

"Molly, come on-" Robert tried to continue, but she ignored him and was out the double doors and making her way towards an exit before he could follow.

She seethed as she walked. How dare her coworkers- people she'd worked with for over five years, now- disrespect her in this manner? They knew her well enough to judge whether she'd really sleep with a billionaire just to have her way and the answer to that was easily _no_. She would never prostitute herself for any ideal, no matter how bad she wanted it. She might give her life for her kids, but sleep with someone? She paused her inner monologue long enough to pull out her keys and spike them through her fingers and secure a canister of pepper spray in her other hand. She'd never needed to use them yet, but it was better to be safe than sorry- although she wasn't sure either object would do much good in a hard place. Then she went directly back to the previous line of thought.

It wasn't even that people assumed there was something untoward going on or that he might- _maybe- _be interested in her. It was that everyone was making such a big deal of it. It was that it was her photo being splashed on tabloids instead of the faces of her students. It was that they weren't respecting her privacy or the value of her work. It overshadowed the good that Wayne was trying to do. Sure, she knew he'd _said_ he was sorry for the confusion, but what did she know about him? Nothing. She knew he was rich, his parents had died when he was young- all the basics. But nothing about the real him. She had no idea what his motives for his philanthropy were, or what his company actually produced. There were other things in her world that she needed to worry about and Bruce Wayne should have been the last thing on her mind, ever.

A car backfired in an alley nearby, but she didn't flinch. She was used to the sounds of the city- she walked or took the metro everywhere. The last time she'd owned a car was in college and that had lasted only a few months before she'd traded it in for textbook money. She counted herself lucky that she lived only six blocks from the school. Her walk-up wasn't really nice, or even very safe, but it was all she needed and it kept her close to the school. She hadn't even had to change neighborhoods when she'd moved out of her gran's home, another fact she was grateful for, though the increased gang violence in the last few years had made her nervous for her younger sister. She was happy, really, that the girl had finally agreed to go to college and was now settled safely out of state for the next four years.

A car backfired _again_ and Molly paused this time. She suddenly had a feeling that she wasn't hearing a car at all. Worried, she put her keys back in her bag and pulled out her cell phone instead, keeping her head up and eyes alert to her surroundings. If something was going on she wasn't going to be taken unawares.

* * *

Batman was about to head back to where he'd hidden his cycle when he realized he was near one of the middle school branches- the one where Molly worked. He made a snap decision and swung by the building. He'd already made a brief round of some suspect areas of the city and decided he had some time to check out the place where she worked. He slowed as he approached it. The structure wasn't as tall as some of the surrounding skyscrapers, but it was large and looked as deplorable as the reporter had made it sound. There were bars over all the windows and the sign on the street side of the building was faded, the paint chipping off the dirty bricks. A miserable, six foot high chain link fence surrounded the building. The only lights came from those in the stairwells of the building and the meager streetlamps outside.

A car backfired in the distance. He leaned off the office complex he was perched on a little farther and activated his amplifier. He knew this neighborhood, though he'd never been to the school before. A nasty street gang was centralized in the surrounding area. Mostly small time thugs and petty thieves, but occasionally someone wound up dead or running drugs- if he was being honest, it was happening more and more. Since the mob had begun to collapse in Gotham, gangs had become the next era of organized crime.

Something filtered through the receiver and he listened closely. It sounded like a fight- maybe gunshots- was happening about two blocks down. Then he picked up another sound…a cell phone dialing. He waited as the 911 operator picked up and asked for information.

"Corner of Sixty-ninth and Lewis," came the broken response. "There's a shooting going on." The voice, though not calm, was steady and the caller spoke clearly.

Suddenly Batman realized he knew the voice. He'd heard it only a few days ago and it propelled him into action. Normally he would wait- she was calling for help, Gordon's men would arrive on the scene quickly- there was probably already a patrol nearby, anyway. But he couldn't help himself and he was soaring away from the building and the middle school without a second thought.

* * *

Molly had edged closer to the area she thought the noises were coming from in order to figure out what was going on. If it was a shooting, she had to call, but it might just be a junky car- and she wouldn't call until she knew. She held the cell phone to her ear, the number already punched in, her thumb on the dial button and peered around the corner. There was another loud pop and she hit send.

She knew the sound of gunshots when she heard them up close. It was unmistakable. And she could smell the tangy smoke in the air, too. The operator picked up after what felt like ages and she continued to move quietly away from the scene in order to avoid detection. She didn't know how many people were there, or how many weapons they had, but she wasn't about to take those chances.

She repeated the information twice in a soft tone before the operator confirmed her request and promised to send help. She lowered the phone in relief and was about to slink even farther away when she heard something- were those running footsteps?

"Molly! Hey, you left so fast, I thought I'd never catch up- what are you still doing so far from home?"

There was another pop and Molly turned to face Robert's running figure. He lived only a block away from her and they had often walked home together after Drama Club, but tonight she'd wanted privacy and space to think. She began cursing him in her head. Why did he have to run after her, making all that noise? The idiot!

"Molly?" It was so quiet along the street that his voice rang out loud and clear in the night air. She glared at him.

"Keep it down! Rob, you really should just head home, now-"

"No, I wanted to apologize- you're right, we're all being weird about this-"

"Rob!" she hissed as another pop filled the silence. It sounded closer this time and brought Robert to attention.

"What was that?"

Molly cursed aloud this time and grabbed his hand, dragging him away from the scene and back towards the school. They were closer to it at this point and it would probably be safer than their own apartments. She sometimes forgot that for all his posturing, Rob was a newer resident of the city- more idealistic than she was, in some ways. To think that he'd been teaching here half a year and still hadn't heard the sound of a gunshot- she shuddered and yanked harder on his arm. There was no time for emotions. She had to get them away from there.

His jaw dropped open and he pulled his arm back, out of her grasp. "Hey! That hurt! What's going on?"

"Rob, you have to be quiet-"

They were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, underneath a dim light post, in plain sight of anyone and Molly darted to the side, out of the circle of yellow light as she saw figures begin to round the corner down the block. They were coming from the direction of the shooting and their tall, hulking figures were suddenly very frightening.

Robert noticed her looking away, open-mouthed and turned around. Molly reached an arm forward and snatched at his blazer, but was too late. Another shot rang out…and another. She snatched her arm back into the shadows and watched, helpless as Rob's body fell to the ground. Things were happening so quickly- they felt unstoppable. She couldn't even make a sound of horror, for fear they would notice her, too. She shrunk back against the building's side and her eyes darted between the gang and Rob's body. She watched his chest continue to rise and fall, despite the spreading spots of red in his white button down shirt.

The gang seemed to be deliberating about something- had they heard him calling to her? Did they know someone else was there? She couldn't see anything about them, they stuck as close to the shadows as she did, but she heard them speaking in low tones. Guttural sounds. It made her flesh crawl and she itched to go to Rob, to dial for help again, to do something! His chest was rising more slowly now…and then it stopped. Her vision blurred as tears fell down her cheeks and she grit her teeth. No time for crying. She had to stay calm- stay sane. And then, finally, the gang seemed to reach a decision. She heard some loud clanging noises and realized they must have been throwing away their weapons. Then they began to shuffle in the opposite direction from where she was hiding. She waited as long as she could and then threw herself forward into the light and felt frantically at Rob's throat for a pulse. She didn't find one and immediately threw her satchel down, tearing out its contents for anything to stop the bleeding. She tore off her sweater and packed it against his wounds, then positioned herself and began to pump his chest up and down, up and down.

No sooner had she started CPR than she heard sirens in the distance. She looked up and began to scream for help, no longer caring who heard her.

"Over here!" she shouted, even as she pumped her hands against Rob's dead chest. Up and down. Up…and down. "Over here! Someone help!"

A shadow flew across their figures and she paused in her ministrations.

"Who's there?" She didn't see the ambulance, or the police lights, though she could hear them, still. She wished someone knew where she was. She should've told the operator she would be leaving the scene- maybe if she had- if she had…

She looked back down at Rob's body and suddenly knew it was no use. She shouted aloud with anger and frustration and felt the tears starting again.

"Damn it! Damn it, damn it! You green idiot! You should've stayed in Kentucky, you fool!"

And then there was someone there, pulling her away from the body and telling her the police would be there soon. She tore herself from his grasp and spun around, surprised to find that her legs weren't shaky at all and she could stand on her own two feet. She was even more surprised to see the Batman standing before her and her anger suddenly found a point. So this was the man criminals feared? This was the man who'd cleaned up Gotham at the cost of so many lives? And he dared appear to her _after _her hour of need?

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she yelled at the masked figure. "What good are you if you're only here to tell me when the real help is arriving?"

If her words bothered him, he didn't let it show. Batman didn't flinch from her gaze. He was quiet and let her rant, even though he wished he could be his other self for her then- be a man she could relate to and let comfort her. She was in shock and covered in the blood of a coworker- it would be unfair of him to ask anything of her other than what she was feeling. And surely, of anyone, he understood that feeling.

"You did everything you could."

"I didn't! I hid and let him be shot and then I watched him die while I continued to hide- I watched him die- I…" her voice trailed off and she looked for a moment as if she might be ill, but she leaned over and braced her hands on her knees, taking deep breaths.

"I'm going now," Batman said. "Gordon's men will help you."

Molly looked up at him, remarkably unchanged from the night he met her, despite the mascara stains and the street clothes. She wasn't some model with no brain or even a socialite with a cause- she was herself and intensely proud of it. The same aura of strength he'd noticed was in full force at that moment and he thought she was beautiful. Every inch of her frame declared that she didn't care who he was- if he didn't clean up the city for Gotham's youth, all his efforts would mean nothing.

"Then go," she choked out. "And catch these bastards. It's bad enough they're killing our children. Now they're killing the only people who can save the children from them."

* * *

**AN: PIGSALE is an anacronym for the seven deadly sins: Pride, Ire, Gluttony, Sloth, Avarice, Lust, and Envy. And what do you think of my first Batman action? Sorry if it's a bit abrupt, it's early in the morning and I promise we will find out more about what Bruce is feeling about the encounter next chapter. Also, I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I think referring to him as Batman when he's Batman and Bruce when he's not in the cape and cowl makes sense, doesn't it?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Batman and make no profit from this fiction! **

* * *

Molly looked up from her weary stance on the folding chair and rubbed her eyes. She'd been at the police station for two hours already and they still weren't any closer to letting her go, from what she could tell. They seemed to see this encounter as their big chance to finally take down one of the gangs in the city and they weren't convinced she couldn't remember anything about the thugs she'd spied across the street.

"Well, Ms. Weil, can I get you anything?" a friendly and sympathetic female officer asked her, taking a seat across from her.

"A cab," she replied stiffly, then sighed. "I have school tomorrow. Can't you let me go?"

The woman shook her head and shrugged apologetically. "I'm really sorry- it's orders."

"What's the problem? I'm not guilty of anything-"

"Look, Ms. Weil. It's not unusual in cases like this for witnesses to deny seeing anything- especially living in the neighborhood, like you do. I'm sure you see our dilemma."

Molly raised an eyebrow and dropped her head into her hands again, resisting the urge to burst into tears. This was _ridiculous_. They thought she was withholding information?

"Lieutenant, if I had seen anything other than what I already described, I would tell you- you have my word! I may live there, but I'm a _teacher_. These gangs take the lives of my students every year- and the lives of my friends before that. Do you honestly think I would withhold information that could be crucial to you catching these criminals and putting them out of business? It's one of my fondest hopes! God! Are you all insane?"

The woman bristled and stood up. "Let me know if you want some coffee. I'll be right over there," she pointed, then walked away.

Molly felt hysterical laughter bubble up and closed her eyes, willing herself to stay sane. Then she sat up and back, leaning her head against the ugly green wall of the station. Her eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. Eleven-forty-five. If they didn't let her go soon, she was calling a lawyer. She pulled out her cell phone and checked it again. No more messages. She wondered if her gran had gotten to sleep okay. Molly usually called her after she got home from work, but tonight had been such a mess and now it was so late- besides, the woman would just worry if she got a phone call now, especially from the station. She thought back over the events of the evening: first she'd ridden with Rob's body to the hospital, where they'd insisted she get checked out. Then it was to the police station, where they'd interviewed her for forty minutes and when it was clear she knew nothing- or said she did- that was when they'd put her in this chair and made excuses about paperwork and her safety.

Not that she cared about her safety. She knew it would be dangerous for her to go back to work and her apartment- she wasn't an idiot. After all, the gang had been worried enough that Rob would be able to identify them that they'd shot him in cold blood. And by the time this blurb hit the papers everyone would know who was with him…and Molly was not exactly a little known figure in her community. But running away wouldn't solve anything, either. It would only give the gang more power over her- not to mention be disastrous for her students. She yawned and looked at the phone again. They'd let her keep it, but insisted she not call anyone. What was the point in that? She shook her head and leaned it back again, closing her eyes. Maybe she should try to sleep. It was better than sitting there and going stir crazy.

* * *

Commissioner Gordon looked up as one of his sergeants knocked on the door of his office. "What is it?"

"Hey, can't we let that poor woman go? She really doesn't know anything, boss. It was dark and she was frightened. We can't hold her here without a reason."

Gordon ran a hand through his hair, troubled. "I know that. And I don't believe she knows more than what she's said, either, but it's too dangerous to send her back. Any luck finding a safe house?"

"No- our last two were exposed within a week of setting them up. And honestly, none of us have room- besides, as officers we'd immediately be suspected of harboring her. Honestly? And we can't convince her to leave Gotham- not to mention that the gang we suspect in the shooting tonight has active branches in most of the surrounding states."

"And her information isn't valuable enough to warrant spending any money on her protection. I get it, I get it. So what we're left with is keeping her name out of the papers and hoping for the best."

"Want me to work on it?"

"Yeah. Look, I'll talk to her myself. Send her up here, alright?"

"Why are you so invested in this?"

"Why don't you stop asking questions and get moving?"

The sergeant in question nodded and left immediately, somewhat chagrinned. A few minutes later, Gordon looked up from his paperwork to see her standing in his doorway, one of his lieutenants escorting her. The woman gestured for Molly to enter and then left again, shutting the door behind her.

Molly walked forward and took a seat in front of his desk. He looked at her seriously.

"Molly, I'm very worried."

"Commissioner, I don't know _anything_-" she began, but stopped short when he smiled gently at her.

"That's not what concerns me. What am I going to tell James when his favorite teacher winds up dead?"

Molly paled. "I'm not going to die, Commissioner."

"You might- you could have easily been the one shot tonight. Is that what you want for your kids? For the school system?"

"You're being ridiculous," she protested.

"Am I? Everyone knows you in that neighborhood. How many people knew you and Mr. Hardy walked home together? See, even if we manage to keep this out of the papers, people will figure it out. They'll put two and two together. So tell me what I'm supposed to do with you."

"Let me go home," she replied firmly. "No, I'm serious. I love my job. I love my kids. But I won't hide in fear for my life."

"Aren't you afraid?"

"Of course I am!" she snapped. "But it doesn't change anything."

"Come on. Can't you take a vacation for a few weeks, until we get this cleared up?"

"It's going to take longer than a few weeks to bring down a gang. And in the meantime, who's teaching my classes? Huh? We don't have enough regular teachers, let alone substitutes. Some of our permanent staff don't even have Bachelor's degrees! Commissioner, you have to let me go. Or else I'm calling a lawyer."

Jim Gordon sat back in his seat, as determined and upset as the woman sitting before him. "Molly-"

"Don't _Molly_ me, just because Barbara used to baby-sit me. I'm not a little girl anymore. I understand the way my neighborhood and street law works as well as any of your cops. Now tell me what you're going to do. I know exactly one lawyer I trust and it's past her bedtime. So make a decision, fast."

* * *

Batman rode his cycle hard and fast down the streets after leaving Molly in the safe hands of the EMTs. He knew he wouldn't have much luck tracking down the thugs tonight and Gordon's men would do a fine job collecting evidence and processing it, so he was headed out of the city and back to the mansion. He wanted to start compiling his own evidence while it was still fresh in his mind. There were a few things about the scene that didn't add up. For instance, while he'd been listening in for Molly, he'd detected what could only have been the voices of the gang members as well, only they weren't all speaking English. And unless one of the Slavic languages was being taught in the local schools, he doubted it was a coincidence that the Russian mob had also been trying to set up shop in Gotham at the same time a gang member picked up the mother tongue. Besides, focusing on work would keep him from thinking about the accusatory glare on Molly's face. He hadn't succeeded in coming to her rescue that night- he'd arrived too late for that. Too late to help, to save that young man- her coworker, or something more? Too late to save her the agony of watching someone she cared for die…

He floored it and roared into the cave minutes later, making the trip in record time. The bike skidded to a stop and he jumped off it, ripping off his cowl. He stood still for a moment and let the cool air of the cave breeze across his face, calming him. He brought a gloved hand to his head and brushed his hair away from his face. So what was he supposed to do about Molly now? He wasn't sure he could face her after failing her- not that she needed or wanted a hero, she'd made that pretty clear. She'd reminded him so much of Rachel at that moment it made his heart ache all over again. But she'd been right. What could he do for her? Nothing. If Batman wanted her respect and gratitude he'd stop the atrocities of gang war that ravaged Gotham's youth. He'd stop the system that created criminals like Joker. And Bruce? What would he have to do? She didn't want anything for herself- she cared about one thing and that was giving the children she worked with a chance at life. And tonight she'd lost one of the valuable tools she needed to do that in her friend and colleague.

Despite the current balance in his life, he suddenly felt more torn than he had in years. After the loss of Rachel he'd sworn he wouldn't let that kind of unjust terror grip such an innocent and righteous life again, yet here he was. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and tried to center himself, to focus on the sounds of the cave: the quiet, the distant flapping of a bat's wings, the light rush of water somewhere in the crevices of rock…there was a footfall behind him and he turned around.

"Alfred," he said in surprise.

"It's fortunate you've just returned. There's a phone call for you."

Bruce's eyes darted to the clock and he looked back at Alfred. "Did I forget about a party?" he asked wryly.

"No, Master Bruce. It's from Superintendent Grace of Gotham Public. He apologizes and says it's urgent, but that it's about Miss Weil and he wasn't sure who to call."

Bruce immediately moved past Alfred, shedding layers of the bat suit as he walked and stepped into the elevator. Alfred followed him, holding out shirt and pair of slacks.

"I thought you might need these, Sir."

Bruce smiled and took them, slipping them on as he hit the button to take them back up. "You think of everything."

"I try, Sir. Shall I make some coffee?"

"No, that's alright. How long has he been on hold?"

"Just a few minutes, since I heard you come in."

"I'll get it in my office."

Bruce shot out of the elevator as soon as they reached the top and took the stairs two at a time. He was in his study in a flash, picking up the receiver and schooling his socialite voice back to its calm, laid-back state.

"Superintendent! What can I do for you?" It wasn't totally unexpected to receive a call from the man- he'd been a guest at the event Sunday evening, after all, and the man had been the one to suggest Molly's name to Alfred as a guest.

Still, the man sounded a little abashed and began to apologize. "Mr. Wayne, I'm very sorry to be calling you so late, but your butler said you were still up…"

"Nonsense. What is this about?"

"It's a long story, but it's about Ms. Weil. She's at police headquarters- there was a shooting, I understand, and she was present when one of our teachers was killed. Well, I received a call from Commissioner Gordon not too long ago asking if I knew of anyone who might take her in-"

"Why? Is there something wrong with her apartment?" Bruce wondered why Gordon was so worried. Was there something he knew about the gangs that he hadn't told Batman? Had Molly been seen by the members before he showed up? Was she a witness now? Any number of things could have compelled him to take such a careful stance, but it was troubling.

"No- he just feels it's unsafe for her to live there at the moment. He's agreed to let her come back to work, thank god, but he wants her to find someplace safe to live in the meantime. Unfortunately, it won't take long for the criminals to figure out where she's living- and none of the teachers I called want to risk it. I normally wouldn't dare presume to ask you, but I'm at my wits end. We can't afford to lose any more teachers like her. Can you help?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Does the commissioner know you called me?"

"Er- no- look, Mr. Wayne, I know this is so unorthodox, but you seemed to take an interest in her and you've become so supportive of our schools…I didn't know who else I could call that has the money to make this happen, frankly. And please don't hold that against me when fundraising season rolls around again."

"Don't worry about it. I'll see what I can do."

Ten minutes later, he roared out of the regular garage in style, on his way back into the city.

* * *

Molly glared at James Gordon and shook her head. "I can't believe you're pursuing this," she fumed. "Look, it's been forty minutes. Grace won't find anyone to take me in. Let me go home!"

"I can't do that, Molly. Just give him a few more minutes."

"You're being unreasonable-" she began, but was cut off when the phone rang.

Gordon answered it and listened intently for a few minutes. A strange expression crossed his face and he turned to Molly with a smug look, murmured a thank you and hung up.

"Bruce Wayne is on his way here."

Molly's jaw dropped and then she leapt out of her chair. "No! Absolutely not. There's no need for this! When have you ever gone to this much trouble for one person? That's _it_. I'm leaving right now and if you try to stop me, so help me, I will sue you!"

"With all due respect, Molly, you're not going anywhere. I'm sorry, but you're too important to this city."

"I'm _nobody_, Commissioner! I teach for peanuts and half of my students never even finish the ninth grade! Less than that go on to earn their high school diplomas- why are you all acting like I'm some sainted personality of Gotham? I've accomplished _nothing_. No one listens, no one wants to be part of Crazy Salome's schemes for reforming the schools- God, I had such big dreams when I was younger. I used to think, if I could get the right job, make a lot of money, I could do something, finally…I could be the one who put up the money for that new library or media center. I could turn the schools around. Did any of that ever happen? No; I couldn't get away from teaching, where no one cares who you are or what you do- I love them too much to abandon them for a better salary. For the thing that could actually give them a chance."

Gordon was quiet for a moment and watched her as she ran out of steam and collapsed back into her chair. "I never knew you felt that way, Molly."

She sighed and smiled bitterly. "Yeah, well. I keep it hidden. Now you know: I'm a fraud."

"You've got a lot more clout with the system than you think you do- and to the kids you're a guardian angel. That very thing you hate about yourself is what makes you invaluable."

"I know, Commissioner. Deep down, I understand that. But it doesn't make me feel any better right now. Pardon me if I'm a bit dark at the moment. I just saw a colleague- a good man- get gunned down and let him die."

Gordon leaned forward and stared at her, a stern look on his face. "Look at me, Molly." She glanced up from staring into a corner and smiled wearily.

"What, are you going to give me a pep talk now?"

"Listen to me. That was not your fault. If you had moved any sooner, it would have been two bodies we brought into the morgue, not one. Don't you ever blame yourself for what happened, you hear me?"

She looked away again and shrugged. "I've lived in Gotham my whole life. I've heard guns go off and explosions and been threatened at knifepoint…but I'd never seen a man die in front of my face before. It means something, you know? I've studied the humanities: Greeks and Romans and all the wars and bloodshed and philosophies on life and death and life after death…I've dealt with loss, too. When my father left us first and then mother ran off too, years later- I've had students I cared about be killed…but to see it happen? To see a man die? It really means something."

Gordon was quiet and watching her intently, but it was still a surprise to him when she lowered her head into her hands and began to cry softly. He stood up and started to move around the desk to comfort her when he saw the shadow in the doorway and Bruce Wayne stepped into view.

The man stopped short when he saw Molly and Gordon held up a hand and gestured to the door. Bruce nodded and was about to walk out when Molly looked up and saw Gordon's motion. She quickly brought her hands to her cheeks and wiped away her tears as best she could; catching a glance over her shoulder at Bruce before turning around again and pasting a smile on her face; her hands still clearing her cheeks of any evidence of weakness.

"Mr. Wayne, how nice to see you again," she said aloud, keeping her face forward as she felt in her pockets for a Kleenex. Finding one, she pressed it to her face, her nose, and was suddenly the bright eyed, serious woman everyone knew her to be once again.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at Gordon and stepped fully into the office. He would play along for now. It was no trouble to him- unless he counted his guilty conscience.

"Under strange circumstances, Molly. And I recall asking you to call me Bruce."

She gulped back the lump in her throat and blinked several times as she nodded in response. "Of course. Silly me. Bruce. Look, you don't have to do any of this- it's ridiculous. The commissioner-"

"Has insisted," Gordon filled in. "She's my son's teacher," he offered to Bruce. "And the bottom line is that even if they didn't see her, there's a good chance the perps heard Hardy talking to someone else. Besides, it will come out sooner or later that someone was present at the scene to find the body, etcetera- basically, no matter how hard we work to keep her name out of the papers this gang will probably be gunning for her sooner or later. She needs a safe place to stay."

"What about her other family?" Bruce addressed Gordon.

Molly answered his question, bringing his attention back to her. She looked as though she couldn't believe she was actually preparing to go along with Gordon's demands. "My sister is out of state at college. My grandmother is…in her home, but she's in hospice care."

"Do you want me to move her as well?" Bruce asked, as if it were they were having the most practical, natural conversation in the world.

Molly eyed him and Bruce stared back, daring her to question his motives. She broke eye contact first and Bruce felt a little bad for goading her the way he was, but was clearly still upset about things and didn't want anyone to give her special treatment. She felt she didn't deserve it. A muscle in his jaw twitched at the stupidity of it, but he didn't glance away from her. He would make her see that she was worth every penny, every effort people went through on her account…she deserved it all, the same way she felt her kids deserved her complete loyalty and attention.

Molly looked over at Gordon, her eyes asking for help and guidance. "I don't know…it seems futile at this point. I'm sorry if that sounds fatalistic, but it's the truth. And to be honest, I don't know if she'd agree to it. She's lived in that house her whole life and never once let the violence- the growing violence- chase her away. She's been lucky so far."

"Ask her anyway. I insist," Bruce replied.

"I don't even know where you're planning on moving us!"

He raised an eyebrow and finally broke his gaze to look at Gordon. "You didn't tell her?"

"Mr. Wayne, I thought it would be best coming from you, as it's your idea."

Molly looked from one man to the other, horror dawning on her face as the realization struck her.

"No…" she said slowly, still eyeing them both. "You're not-"

Bruce turned back to her. "It's about time I opened up the pent house again- campaign season is starting in earnest- and it will be easy for you to get to your school…there's a stop for the rail only a couple of blocks away. It's very safe, Molly-"

"No. Absolutely not."

"Well, it's that or the mansion and honestly, it's more isolated. It might be more difficult to penetrate the defenses out there, but I think you'll find that the pent house is preferable."

Molly gave up all pretense of making nice to either man in the room and stood up. "I'm leaving now. Thanks, Commissioner. It's been fun. You'll just have to figure out a nice way of letting James know I'm dead because if you think for one minute-"

Bruce looked over at Gordon and smiled tightly. "Could you give us a minute, Commissioner?"

James Gordon looked from Bruce Wayne, one of the most accidentally powerful men in Gotham City to Molly and back before shrugging and walking out the door. Normally he would have told a man like Wayne to take a hike, but he was doing a very decent thing- and rich men who did favors were well regarded. Well, rich men with morals. And if one ignored the fact that Wayne seemed to spend all his time cliff diving and sleeping around, he was a healthy philanthropist.

"I'll be downstairs," he spoke over his shoulder. "Checking with my men. Come down when you're ready."

"Commissioner-" Molly called after him. She watched him walk out and then picked up her satchel, preparing to follow him.

Bruce put a hand out and laid it on her arm, staying her action. "Sit down, Molly. Let's talk about this."

She flushed at the contact and glared down at his hand as if it were the snake in the garden, but she didn't shake it off, either. Instead, she sat down and forced herself to look at him. He didn't lift his hand away and stayed where he was, leaning towards her, that tight-lipped smile on his face. It was different this time, though…more genuine, softer. And his brown eyes were gazing at her as though her feelings on the matter were the most important thing she could tell him.

She looked away and cleared her throat. "I don't understand why everyone is being so ridiculous about this."

"I hardly think the question of your life is ridiculous, Molly," he replied, "but help me understand. What's so terrible about doing this?"

She looked back at him in exasperation. "Bruce, I don't know you. Why would you do all this? Why are you going to all this trouble on my account all of the sudden? We just met, we have nothing in common-"

"We might have more than you think," he interrupted. "And it's really no trouble to me. What else am I supposed to be doing? My company runs itself, my household runs itself and pretty soon even the foundation will be out of my hands. It's not like you've put me on the spot or anything. I have two homes that are open to you if you want them. And if you don't want them, that's fine, too. This has nothing to do with you or me," he said slowly. "And it's entirely your decision. Molly, I'm not asking you to marry me. We're not dating and we barely know each other as you just pointed out. Just consider this an opportunity to give the commissioner some peace of mind and try it out. If it doesn't work, you can go home and I won't stop you. What have you got to lose?"

_My dignity, _she longed to say. _My integrity, my privacy…_she could think of a dozen things to say to him, but she was so tired and the night was only going to get longer if she didn't give in soon. She protested one last time.

"That tabloids…all the gossip-"

"I'll threaten them with slander," Bruce said calmly. "Please, accept my apology and come with me."

And after staring into his eyes again, she finally nodded wearily. "Alright. Let's go. I need to stop at my apartment and get some things, if that's okay."

"Whatever you need," he responded, smiling at her once again. "What about your grandmother?"

"It's so late. She's asleep by now. I'll call her tomorrow morning, if that's alright with you." Molly glanced up at him almost shyly as they walked. She felt so strange, depending on someone else. She hadn't lived off the charity of someone else since she'd moved out of Gran's after graduating high school.

He nodded and pushed open a door for her. "You don't need to ask, Molly."

* * *

After telling Gordon she'd agreed to the plan (leaving out the portion where Bruce promised she could leave if she wanted), the two walked into the garage and found Bruce's car, where he opened the door for her and made sure she got in okay before walking around to the driver's side. He made a phone call to the mansion almost as soon as they were on the road, but Molly managed to ignore most of what he said. She could feel her eyelids dropping and the care sped along the road so smoothly it was lulling her away to sleep.

Bruce glanced over at her after hanging up with Alfred, with whom he'd called to confirm their plans. He'd spoken with his butler and friend about the possibilities before he'd left, so it was no surprise to the man when Bruce asked him to make his way to the penthouse.

"I already took the liberty of coming over, sir. I had the mansion's line connected through in case you called," Alfred had responded when told.

Now, Bruce could see how tired Molly was and was glad there would be a made bed waiting for her, though he was sure she would have slept anywhere at that point. She'd been through a lot in one evening. He turned on the radio as he drove, flipping through to a classical station. Soon, the strains of Song to the Moon filled the small cabin of the car.

Molly started and opened her eyes. "What is that?" she asked blearily.

Bruce smiled. "Rusalka. I'm sorry it woke you."

"Rusalka…" she repeated softly. Then she turned her head and looked at him. "The water demon who repays a scornful lover with death."

"You know it?"

"Yes. But I never liked that one. It seemed completely unnecessary to me. She goes to all this trouble to get his attention, he rejects her for another girl who rejects _him_ and when he finally comes to his senses and accepts his death, she's still stuck as a killer. Forever. It was so…"

"Sad?" Bruce supplied.

She snorted. "Misogynistic. Oh, I'm sorry- do you know where I live?"

"We talked about it, yes. Don't worry. Go ahead and catch a few more minutes."

"No, I'm awake for now." She hummed the aria for a few bars and looked out the window of the car. She couldn't see the moon. As some of the Slavic syllables tripped off her tongue, she suddenly sat up straight. That was the sound she'd heard earlier- Slavic...or something else?

"What is it?" Bruce asked.

"Russian! It was Russian I heard."

Bruce stared at her like she was crazy and she shook her head. "No, I mean tonight, when I saw the gang members- some of them weren't speaking English. I was too distressed to notice what it was at the time-"

Bruce hung onto every word- he wished she knew he wasn't staring at her because he thought she'd grown two heads. It was key that she was able to come to that conclusion on her own. It meant that she could act as a witness when the time came- but it also meant that she was now in more danger. "You'd better call the police right away."

"Do I need to go back?"

"No, but here- why don't you do that right now. It's alright, use the phone in here."

She quickly punched in the number of the station and eagerly gave her news to the officer on the line. After she'd hung up, she gave Bruce a strange look.

"What?" he asked.

"None of this phases you," she said.

He looked away and carefully pulled the car up to the curb. "Do you think I can leave this parked here?"

"No. Stay with it. I'll be right back."

He gave her another smile. "You have fifteen minutes. If anything happens to you, Gordon will have my head."

She rolled her eyes and slammed the car door. Bruce watched her go, feeling some anxiety, though not for her sake- he trusted that she could handle herself for a few minutes. No, it was her remark about he behavior. It never failed to get his heart racing whenever someone said something that could be remotely tied to his double life. Not that he ever let anyone see how bothered he was. But she was different…she was smart, she knew the streets and crime. She wasn't so innocent, or naïve. Principled, idealistic- but not stupid.

He would have to find a way to help her see that Bruce Wayne could be a play-boy and aware of the politics and ways of the city at the same time. He would have to quell her curiosity somehow.

She was back in nine minutes and tossed a couple of bags in the nonexistent back seat of the sports car before climbing back in. He pulled away from the curb and took off for the high end of the city.

Neither of them said anything for the rest of the drive, which suited Bruce, but Molly could feel her nerves growing. She held tightly to her things and stayed quiet. It was easy to say to herself that she was tired, that she was in shock, that she was uncomfortable with the thought of sleeping anywhere within a hundred yards of Bruce Wayne (and was she really uncomfortable with that or was it something else); but the fact was that what had happened tonight did mean something.

It meant her life was changing. With a single gunshot, her world- the one she'd come to accept that she couldn't control, the one she'd grown used to, the one she'd eventually understood as being her destiny in life- was changing. It was gone with the last breath Robert had taken. And for whatever reason, Bruce Wayne was stepping neatly onto the path this new world had selected for her. She didn't like it- she was entering a place she'd always thought she knew everything there was to tell: a world with money and champagne and hypocrites who only cared for themselves. But Bruce was sitting next to her, a perfect stranger, really, and offering her a home and her dreams and all because of…what? Because he could and she needed him. Or the everyone else thought she needed him.

She looked over at him and studied his profile with hooded eyes. Strong, defined, youthful at first glance…but there were lines around the mouth and eyes that betrayed his experience. There was more to him than met the eye, more than his philanthropic and business smarts accounted for, she was certain…he was a man she was beginning to wonder about.

And now she would be living with him.

She suspected that life was going to keep her from her guilt and fear by getting very interesting very quickly. And she wasn't sure she minded.

* * *

**AN: OMG if you're reading this, congrats on making it the whole way through the chapter! Wow, this was way too long. Anyway. How about those contrived plot points? Yeah, I'm sure they'd go to this much trouble for a school teacher that can't even ID anyone. Phbbt. But you know what? Bruce Wayne is already running around in a bat suit, so since we're working in an implausible storyline to begin with, let's go with that. :) Enjoy! (Besides, I had to get her into his home somehow- how else will they eventually fall in lurv and get it on?)**

**To maggie: Thanks for all the lovely compliments! I'm so glad you like it. You're my only reviewer and you're fabulous and I love you for it. Kisses!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Batman franchise and make no money from this fiction.**

* * *

Once Bruce had parked the car in the safety of the gated and guarded underground garage, he insisted on helping Molly from the car and then carrying her bags. He grabbed both in one hand and swung one easily over his shoulder, carrying the other by hand. That left a hand free to keep behind Molly's back, hovering an inch or two away. If she hadn't been so tired Molly would have been bothered by his proximity. She had to keep reminding herself that she was a grown woman who'd had, well, a _few_ boyfriends and that there was nothing going on between her and Bruce. Although the way he kept glancing at her- protectively, concerned- might give others a false impression. Not to mention that they would be living together for a few days, at least. She'd better get used to his presence, she told herself.

Bruce, for his part, was enjoying carrying her bags. She'd packed two and they felt like they had enough in them to last her two months rather than the day or two she'd said she would tolerate. Of course, half of the weight was probably books and papers, but he could dream. Not that he should be congratulating himself on getting her in his grasp under such awful circumstances; but he couldn't help the tiny thrill he felt when she cast him a glance from beneath those dark lashes…they contrasted so well with her pale skin and light hair.

When she suddenly stopped before they entered the lobby of the building, Bruce wasn't prepared and his hand caught her back. Though she jumped at the contact, he did not move it and kept it where it had landed, lying against her lower back. He leaned forward her over shoulder to look at her.

"What's the matter? Did you forget something?"

"No-" she began, her breath catching. "I just…I can't believe I'm doing this," she offered with an uncomfortable laugh.

"It's easy," he replied. "Just keep putting one foot in front of the other. You were doing great a minute ago-"

"Oh, haha," she responded, cutting him off. "Never mind. I'm fine. Let's go."

"No, no- please, tell me what's wrong. We don't move unless you're alright."

"Look, Bruce, it's great that you're being so sweet right now, but I'm not a child. Yes, I'm upset about what happened earlier- I don't know how to feel yet, but I don't need to talk about it, especially not with you. Can't we just pretend for now that we're roommates who don't like each other? I need some time to adjust right now and talking about it isn't going to help."

Bruce resisted the urge to argue with her and instead smiled and nodded. "Alright. If that's what you want-"

"It is," she said with finality and then moved ahead into the lobby, walking straight across the polished stone floors to the elevators.

Bruce kept up with her easily and reached for the button before her. She crossed her arms and looked around as they waited. A few yards away a doorman stood behind a desk. He noticed her and gave her a smile and a wink, seeing she was with Bruce. She sniffed and glanced away. This was what she'd been afraid of- there was no way to reach Wayne's penthouse without _someone_ seeing them together. That was certain to be misconstrued. And now he probably thought she was a complete bitch for what she'd said. Well, let him. It was his fault her name was in all the papers…wasn't it?

She began to feel guilty again. Rob had been right, hadn't he? She was taking the whole thing too seriously. If she wanted to be involved in the fund her name would stay in the spotlight for who knew how long. She would have to grow a tougher skin. It was almost funny- she was tough as nails in school and at home, but when it came to the public, she hadn't the first idea how to deal with media attention. Mostly because she'd never been exposed to it before. It was just another new thing she'd have to learn to live with, she supposed. In the meantime, however, she'd still been rude to Bruce, and after the kindness he'd been showing her…she worried her lower lip a little. Should she apologize? Would he rather not talk, too? Was he upset with her?

With the new territory came the same questions about herself and her confidence that she'd hoped were laid to rest years ago. She hadn't felt this out of place since middle school- which was part of the reason she loved teaching that age group so much. She remembered what it was like to feel as though your life was out of control and you would never fit in anywhere, ever again; and she wanted to make sure the kids had someone who still remembered those feelings guiding them through it. And yet…just because the circumstances had changed on her somewhat didn't mean she should totally lose who she was. Wasn't that what she was constantly telling her kids? _Don't let the things that happen to you define you. It's how you react to them that makes you who you are._ So if she was acting like a shy, nervous thirteen year old right now, what did that say about her?

She snuck a peek at Bruce only to realize that he was watching her intently. He smiled at her and she forced herself to smile back.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier," she offered.

He shook his head. "Don't worry about. Here's the elevator- ladies first."

It would have been amusing in any other circumstance- or maybe not- but Molly found that once she'd stepped through the doors (literally and figuratively) Bruce had held open for her, she couldn't stop talking.

"I'm so unused to all this; and you're right- I probably do need to talk about what happened. But not that specifically, tonight. Right now I need sleep. You understand, right? I'm not trying to be rude, really. I just can't stand not knowing what's going on, or what's happening next. I spent such a long time learning to accept the things that happened to me when I was younger and well, it's been a while since I've had to deal with change…" Her voice trailed off and she looked up at him again, shrugging. "I'm babbling. Sorry again. I just need to know you understand, I guess. That you're not mad-"

He interrupted her. "Why would I be mad? You've been through a trauma tonight, Molly. And I understand that better than most. Talk, don't talk- just do what makes you comfortable. God knows I can't stand in judgment on anyone," he quipped.

"Oh, that's right…your parents...?" Molly didn't elaborate further; she was unwilling to display her ignorance of the man who was putting her up. How would it sound? _Well, to be honest, Mr. Wayne, I've never thought of you until I met you last Sunday._

The smile on his face grew tighter and he looked up as the doors opened onto his floor.

"Yes," he replied, but didn't say anything else and Molly looked down again

Moments later Alfred was opening the doors to the penthouse for them.

"Good evening, Master Bruce, Miss Weil. May I carry anything for you?"

"No, Alfred, we're fine, thank you. Second bedroom?" he asked, holding up Molly's bags. When Alfred nodded in affirmative, Bruce walked off with the luggage.

Molly's eyes followed him unintentionally and she stood looking after him until Alfred cleared his throat beside her, jolting her back to reality.

"Miss Weil, are you hungry? Thirsty? Is there anything I can do for you?"

She shook her head and held out her hand. "No, I'm sorry. Please, call me Molly, Mr. Alfred."

Alfred took her hand and gave it a small shake. "It's just Alfred, Miss Molly."

"Don't you have a last name?"

"I do, but since you'll never be using it, let's leave things at that, why don't we?"

Bruce walked back over to them, his smile a little more relaxed. "It's Pennyworth, but don't ever call him that. Alfred likes everyone to think of him as family."

"Close enough, Sir. And what may I get for you?"

Bruce looked to Molly, who was shaking her head, clearly appalled that someone was going to cook for her. His smile broadened a little and he kept his eyes trained on her as he replied.

"How about an omelet? You really should eat something. It'll help with the shock."

"I'm not in shock-" she started to protest, but just then her knees buckled and she felt a wave of dizziness engulf her. Bruce stepped forward and caught her arms neatly, bringing her back to her feet.

"First things first- a hot shower and a change of clothes. No, I've got it covered, Alfred- see to the food, please."

She didn't even bother to protest when he half carried her to the shower connected to her new room and sat on the toilet lid quietly while he dug through her bags for a pair of pajamas. He walked back into the bathroom and started the shower running and steam spouted from the pipes almost immediately.

"These okay?" he asked, holding up a worse-for-wear long sleeved t-shirt and black yoga pants.

She nodded weakly and murmured a thank you before letting her gaze fall back to the wall in front of her. She'd thought she was simply tired earlier from the stress of it all, but shock definitely made sense. She was starting to feel rather numb, in fact, and wondered that she hadn't realized what was going on. There was a movement to her left and then Bruce's face shifted into view. He was kneeling in front of her, a worried look on his face.

"Hey," he said softly. "You're going to be okay."

She felt herself nod stiffly and fought the tears that threatened to spill at his unexpected kindness and understanding.

"Do you need help with anything else?" he asked, nodding towards the shower stall.

She shook her head in response this time and he smiled at her again, bringing his hands to her shoulders and giving them a good squeeze before he stood and walked out.

"If you need anything, press the call button," he offered before closing the door behind him.

Molly watched the door shut and listened for his footsteps as he walked away. With some effort, she peeled off her clothing, realizing in horror that blood was spattered along the edges of the sleeves from her efforts to revive Rob. A shaky sob escaped her throat and she stood up, managing to stumble to the shower stall and crawl in before the second sob wracked her body. Once inside the stall, she sat on the floor under the hot spray and curled her knees into her chest, allowing the tears she'd held back-tears she didn't know she had- fall. She prayed they couldn't hear her; not because she didn't want Bruce to see her moment of weakness; but because she needed a moment to mourn Rob privately. To mourn her old self. And this was the only chance she would have: sobbing on the floor of someone else's shower.

Despite all her posturing and all her high minded ideas, she felt ridiculously pathetic. But she knew she had to let herself feel that way, even if only for a moment. That way she could know what it felt like and then make sure it never happened again.

* * *

"And how is Miss Weil?" Alfred asked Bruce when he'd reappeared in the kitchen's doorway.

"Probably losing it," Bruce answered truthfully, though his face was grim.

"I see. And you chose not to comfort her? Did you forget the play-boy at the door when you came in, Sir?"

Bruce looked away. He knew Alfred was referring to his behavior- he wasn't acting like his public persona around Molly and Alfred was implying that it could be dangerous to his balancing act.

"Now's not the time for that," he said glibly, trying to brush off Alfred's prying question.

"Yes, but if you'll pardon my saying so, Master Bruce, it's only a matter of time before it comes to question."

"It's not your concern. I trust her, Alfred."

"You don't know her, Sir, and you can barely trust yourself."

Bruce was quiet and Alfred looked up at him. "Two eggs or three?"

Bruce rolled his eyes and pushed away from the door frame. "I'm going to check on her. You're the chef, make up your own mind- and stop digging in mine."

* * *

The shower was still running when Bruce walked back into the bedroom. He sat down in an armchair in the corner to wait…not to mention think. He knew Alfred was right; he should be taking it slower with Molly- not revealing so much of himself at once. But he couldn't help it. She needed support and he couldn't give that to her if he was tossing drinks back and trying to get her into his bed. She wasn't that kind of girl- he didn't want her to be that kind of girl. But no, he couldn't trust her entirely, either. How could he tell Alfred that he simply had a hunch about her? That she _felt_ right? Alfred would give him that disapproving look and say something ruthless and make Bruce feel like he was ten again. Or would he? It was hard to tell sometimes how Alfred would react. He'd certainly seemed encouraging just a few days ago. And now? He would just have to try and slow it down, even if events were conspiring to keep him from thinking clearly. He looked out the bank of windows to his right and thought to the last time someone had used this bedroom. So much had changed.

He wondered if Rachel had forgiven him, wherever she was now.

The door to the bathroom opened and he looked over as steam rolled out in waves.

"Feeling better?" he asked, the tight smile back in place.

Molly stopped short as she was exiting the bathroom, a towel still in her hands as she rubbed it over her wet hair, which was plastered to her head. There was no energy to the motion, though she was at least standing on her own. Her cheeks were red and her eyes looked a little bleary. He knew she'd been crying and his heart ached a little more.

For her part, astonishment swept over her, followed by the inability to breath. She didn't understand why she was still reacting this way- he'd made it clear he cared about her well being; why should it keep surprising her so much? What was the kindness of a stranger to her?

Her breath caught in her throat and she brought her hands to her mouth, letting the towel drop. It seemed she wasn't quite done crying, yet. She fell back against the doorframe and felt her knees start to give out on her again. Bruce was out his chair in a flash and putting his arms around her, helping her up. She tried to feebly push him away, but keep her face covered at the same time.

"Please go away," she whispered brokenly.

"I'm not leaving you, Molly," Bruce replied. He tried to steer her over to the bed to sit down, but she resisted and shook her head.

"Please…I can't stand for people to see me this way-"

"What way is that?" he asked quietly. He helped her stand against the wall and brought his hands to her wrists, gently drawing her hands away from her face.

"This- I'm sorry," she mumbled, her mouth trembling as she tried to keep from bawling. "I'm just not myself right now."

"You're fine," he soothed, bringing a hand to her face, smoothing her damp hair from where it had stuck to her forehead. It gave her a sleek look, her skin still glistening from the heat and steam. He lowered his voice further. "You're fine."

She finally looked up at him, her lashes wet with the tears that still spilled from the corners of her eyes. "Why are you doing all this for me?" she whispered, her lower lip still trembling.

Instead of answering her question, he drew closer to her and brought his other hand to her face as well, cradling it between the two, brushing wayward tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. His brown eyes burned into hers and she felt her breath leave her altogether as she held it, waiting to see what he would do- what he would say. She felt like she was floating outside her body, watching herself become someone she'd never thought she could be. To him, she was already everything he could ever want her to be. He wondered idly what it meant that this was the second time he'd wanted to kiss her and yet, he hadn't had any champagne that night.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he breathed softly. "Is that okay?"

Her eyes widened and she tried to move her head in protest, but his hands kept her face still, her eyes locked on his. Bruce cursed at himself for taking advantage of her, but he covered any words she might've said with his mouth anyway. Her lips were soft and yielding beneath his, though she kept them determinedly closed and he could feel her tears against his own cheeks as he kissed her. She lifted her hands and grasped his shirt sleeves and he finally moved his hands from her face to wrap her in his arms.

Molly felt terrified and exhilarated all at once and she tilted her head back, letting him kiss her even as his lips grew more demanding against hers. If this was what a kiss from Bruce Wayne felt like, then that was what she wanted him to do- better be overwhelmed by passion and confusion than to feel the way she had been- upset and lonely and torn apart. She sighed against his lips and he lifted his head away to look at her. Her eyes opened and she returned his gaze, the hysteria from a moment ago gone and replaced by a strange contentment. Her eyes had melted beneath the tears and arousal to silver pools, daring him to keep going. Instead, he rested his forehead against hers and she closed her eyes, relaxing further into his grip.

"Molly," he said softly, reverently. _So much for slowing it down,_ he shivered and her hands tightened their hold on his shirt. He caught her lips with his again and she kissed him back, this time. When he opened his mouth to ply her lips with his tongue, however, she broke away, eyes still closed, breathing shaky. Bruce watched her, waiting to see what she would do- what she wanted to do.

Her insides were in turmoil, her mind frozen. All she could feel was Bruce's breath on her face, his arms about her, his heart beat coming strong and fast through his chest. It all felt surprisingly good…too good. She wanted nothing more than to ignore the voice of reason that was beating against the cage she'd locked it in, screaming for help, asking her to please stop before she did something stupid. She was strong, but she wasn't herself just then and she knew that if she let him kiss her again she wouldn't be able to resist any longer. She wouldn't be able to stop herself from giving in to his warm body and strong hands the way she secretly wanted to. With some effort, she released her grip on his shirt and let her hands fall back to her sides.

Bruce caught the hint readily and loosened his arms, stepping back from her, but staying close in case she collapsed again. When she opened her eyes to look at him, a small smile of regret on her face, he didn't smile in return. He stayed serious, regarding her quietly. It was up to her how they dealt with what had just happened. Watching his serious face, the smile slipped from her lips and she looked away; bringing her arms about her body self consciously, one hand playing at her hair, smoothing the short strands away from her face. The shirt and pants she had donned must have fit the curve of her body once, but they were stretched and worn now and bunched at her elbows and hung loose about her feet. She felt more than a little ridiculous, but had to admit she was calmer than she had been a few minutes ago. She felt more alive, more aware…particularly of the man standing so close to her.

But she could think of absolutely nothing to say to Bruce Wayne. _Thanks for the kiss. Nice technique, I bet you use it on all the girls._ Well, he might, but she had a feeling that she was seeing a side of him precious few would ever see and she couldn't help but wonder why he was showing it to her. Were the rumors possibly true? Was he really interested in her for more than her good looks or a good time? Even that sounded ridiculous to her ears; she was hardly the belle of the ball. She shook her head and looked back over at him. He was still watching her.

"Do you think Alfred's done with the eggs?" she finally asked, breaking the long silence.

He pushed away from the wall he'd been leaning against. So that was her choice. Move on, pretend that hadn't just happened- that he hadn't just kissed a woman for the first time in three years as though his life depended on it. That she hadn't wanted him to kiss her. That they weren't both still trying to keep from slamming the door of the bedroom closed and leaving Alfred to throw out whatever food he'd made.

He smiled at her, finally, and she felt her shoulders relax with relief. "I don't know. I'll go check."

He started out the door and she jumped as he passed her. "I'll go with you," she said hurriedly, as though afraid he might return to trap her in the room if she stayed there; and she followed him swiftly out of the dim bedroom. At this rate, she would never get to be in time to get up for school in the morning.

But as long as she was being honest with herself, school- normally the only thing she thought of- was the furthest thing from her mind at that moment; and she was finding it difficult to keep her eyes from straying back to Bruce's tall, handsome figure. She prayed to God that she would be feeling more herself in the morning; that whatever it was she was feeling now- that sneaking suspicion she was being swept off her feet for the first time in her life- would pass.

* * *

**AN: What kind of cheese is this, I wonder? Parmesan? Mozzarella? Maybe Pepper Jack, since it's so hot! Harharhar. No, seriously. I wasn't expecting them to kiss this soon, either, but the sooner they kiss the closer they are to getting it on! Wooooo. Don't worry, Molly is just a little out of sorts tonight from watching a man DIE. You would be too, wouldn't you? So she'll be more herself tomorrow. But still mightily attracted to Bruce. So point for him. (Who wouldn't be, honestly?) **

**Thanks again, maggie (and to my new reviewers as well)!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Batman franchise and make no profit from this fiction.**

* * *

Molly sat down at the bar that bordered the kitchen and watched as Bruce walked over to Alfred and spoke with him in low tones. A second later, Alfred approached and slid a fresh omelet onto the plate in front of her. It jarred her from her reverie and she looked up at him.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly eat the entire thing," she protested. "I insist- have you made one for Bruce yet? Here, cut mine in half, please- oh, I'll do it-"

She began to saw at it with her knife and fork and Alfred set the pan down, gently laid his hands on hers and removed the silverware.

"I'll take care of that, Miss Molly. Master Bruce, I poured some tea out-"

Bruce looked at the cups of tea sitting on the counter and back to Molly, who was sitting on her barstool, shoulders hunched, looking very much like an acolyte who'd lit the wrong candle. She looked over at him helplessly and he smiled.

"Alfred, is there brandy in this tea?"

"No, Sir. Should there be?"

"I think so."

Fifteen minutes later, after the first pangs of late night hunger had been sated, Molly and Bruce sat side by side, watching the news on a nearby television which Bruce had turned on. Alfred had done up the cooking dishes and had respectfully retired to his own bedroom for the remainder of the evening, unless otherwise asked. He hadn't said a word to Bruce about the stunned look on Molly's face.

And now, Bruce's attention was on the television screen and Molly's attention was on the bottom of her cup, where a few tea leaves had escaped to. She was waging an internal war: talk to him about the kiss? Don't talk about the kiss? Which was even more difficult to think about clearly when he'd just given her brandy. She decided that it was okay, for one night, if she was unsure of herself and needed attention like a poorly behaved six year old whose goldfish had just died. The comparison of Rob to a goldfish, however, brought her semi-lucid internal ramblings to a halt. She wished she could have gone home to her gran. _She would have known what to do or say. And if I needed extra time to cry she would have left me alone. Or hugged me. But no kissing would have gone on._

Why was it that men always thought a good kiss would clear things up? She wasn't sure, but she kind of wanted Bruce to test out that theory on her again. And that's when she decided she ought to go to bed. She looked over at him.

"I should go to bed now," she said.

He glanced over from the news and eyed her for a moment before nodding in agreement and turning off the television. He stood up and set the remote down before walking away. She stared after him.

"Um," she said.

He turned around. "Yes? Do you need something? Glass of water?"

"No, I can figure that out, thanks- what do we do with these dishes?"

He looked at the cups and plates and back at her. "Leave them."

"You're joking."

"I am not. Alfred needs something to do, doesn't he?"

She slid from her stool and stacked the dishes. "Mr. Wayne- Bruce- I just don't understand you."

He stopped in his tracks and faced her. "What's there to understand?"

Her brows drew together in frustration and she walked the dishes into the kitchen. "It takes two minutes to wash these. Honestly, didn't you ever help with the housework?"

"That's not what either of us meant, Molly." He walked back over and stood next to the bar, watching her rinse the cups out.

She looked up at him uncertainly before turning her attention back to the plates this time. She had to make a choice, now. He'd offered her a chance to ask him the question that had been bothering her and if she passed, it would only be more difficult to bring it up. That is, if their relationship- not that they _had _one- progressed. She finally set the dishes down in the drainer and turned to face him, dish towel in hands, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

"You're not that man," she said finally.

He regarded her quietly, a small smile on his face. He didn't know what had overcome him, but he was trying to salvage the mistake he'd made earlier in letting her see the real him- the one Rachel had known so well, the one that only Alfred knew now.

"Excuse me?"

"That man, the one in the papers and on the news. This- this _act _you're putting on right now! You're not him! There's no way that the man who was so kind to me earlier- who went to all that trouble with the foundation on Sunday, who drove all the way out the Gotham City Police Department for _my _sake tonight- is the fake you! I refuse to believe it!" Unspoken were the words, _because if he's not real then I was just a fool. I let myself kiss a man who was only trying to use me all along._

A muscle in his jaw twitched- nothing to the outsider, but to the trained eyes of a teacher it meant everything.

"I'm right! This isn't you, is it?"

"And if you're right?" he responded, the smile now gone. "What do you want me to say?"

She glared at him. "You're right. I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. It doesn't matter either way, does it? You're still rich and I'm still living on your charity at the moment. How rude of me." She threw the towel on the counter and marched past him, only to have him catch her arm.

"Let go," she demanded. When he didn't, she met his eyes again. He looked sorry.

"I apologize," he murmured. "And you are right. It's just that not many people know this side of me."

"And not many people know this side of me," she replied.

"I find that hard to believe. You're always genuine, aren't you? So you don't let people see you cry, so what? That doesn't mean anything. Everyone has moments of weakness, Molly. But you…I'm pretty sure you are always this determined to be strong."

She stared at him, wide eyed, and jerked her arm back again, but he still wouldn't let go.

"Why me?" she asked for the second time that night.

"Why not you?" he replied, watching her, his eyes not blinking, not moving from her face.

And then, not thirty minutes after he'd sworn not to do it anymore, he kissed her again. She responded immediately by putting her hand on the back of his neck. He let her other arm go and put both around her waist before leaning back against the kitchen counter and pulling her with him. When she landed against him he wrapped his arms around her more tightly and proceeded to kiss her with a renewed vigor. His lips were demanding and she felt herself melting against his chest, tilting her head back again, giving him full access. His lips were firm and warm and when they opened against hers and she felt his tongue slipping between her own lips, she gave in with a sigh. Her mouth opened and he explored it gently, testing the waters. Molly could feel a slow heat pooling in her belly and she wasn't sure if it was from the food and alcohol or his tongue in her mouth, but both were incredibly pleasant at that point. She twisted her head beneath his so it was resting on his shoulder and he continued to kiss her, pushing away from the counter with his hips- sending another flush of heat through her nether regions- and turning them around so that she was trapped between him and the countertop.

He pulled away to look down at her tenderly. His eyes were sad. Hers fluttered open and she met his gaze.

"I'm sorry- I don't mean to keep doing this to you," he apologized.

One of her hands tugged on his shirtfront and she gave a rueful smile. "I don't mean to keep letting you." She looked down, worrying her lower lip. "I really should go to bed now."

"That's a good idea," he agreed, but neither moved.

They remained wrapped in each other's arms for another moment before her hand slipped from his neck and he took the cue, removing his arms and stepping away, though his hands still rested lightly near her hips. And then, her gaze locked with his, she leaned forward and kissed him softly on his cheek, just next to his lips. He stared at her, confused and she smiled at him.

"Thanks for looking out for me. I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

He came out of his reverie easily and dropped his hands from her waist, "Maybe. But don't worry about entering and exiting the building. I'll notify the staff that you're staying with us."

She sighed and walked away from him, but he heard her mutter under her breath, "That's what I was afraid of." He smiled and watched her until he saw the door of her room close, then he turned, shut off the lights in the kitchen, and wandered into the living area. He stood in front of the wall of windows, hands in his pockets, brooding. What had gotten into him? He was Bruce Wayne, billionaire and philanthropist, not to mention Batman, one of Gotham's leading crime fighters. He had his hands full and led two very busy lives. He had no time for a woman, let alone one that had equally little time for him. Let alone one that could probably put two and two together. Sure, she was beautiful, in an unusual way, and she was strong and principled- just his type. But what made her different? She looked nothing like Rachel- maybe that was the draw. He wanted love and affection, sure, but to have a duplicate of Rachel staring at him day after day would be unnerving.

Lightening flashed across the sky outside and he looked up at his reflection in the glass. Who was he kidding? It had nothing- and everything- to do with Rachel. It always would, in some small way. But Molly was different and the bottom line was that he was ready for different, finally. Ready for something that didn't walk around in stilettos. Ready for a woman who knew the value of a hard day's work. Ready for something that wasn't make-believe. He _wanted_ different. He wanted _her_, a poor school teacher who'd been lobbying for school reforms since she was sixteen. Who was raised by her grandmother. Who had no desire for children of her own because she wanted to spend all her time on her students. Who had no desire for a relationship- just like himself. They were remarkably alike.

Lightening flashed again, followed seconds later by thunder. Bruce stared at himself and brought a thoughtful hand to his lips. He'd kissed a woman he barely knew twice in one night, at the most inappropriate time, and she had kissed him back. And he'd liked it, beyond all reason. All he knew was that he wanted to keep her safe, to help her, to give her anything she wanted…he dropped his hand and looked over in the direction of her closed door. He grimaced and shoved his hand back in his pocket.

He wanted her.

* * *

The next morning dawned sunny, the skies clear for the first time in days. Molly woke up to the sun already streaming in through the window. She was disoriented for a minute- her internal clock was strong, she never woke up after the sun had risen. She woke when it was dark and gloomy and the chill of night still lay over the city streets. She lifted herself to a sitting position and glanced around, one hand coming to her forehead in confusion. Where was she? What was going on? And why wasn't she already awake when it was a school day?

With a gasp, the previous night's events came back to her and she felt a wave of nausea sweep over her. That was right…she was in Bruce Wayne's penthouse, Robert was dead, she was the possible target of a gang (of Russian speakers)…she stumbled from the bed to the bathroom in time to lose whatever was left from the late night meal in the toilet. She got to her feet and stood in front of the sink, rinsing her mouth and face carefully, her hands still shaking. _None of that today, Molly_, she told herself. _You said you would be alright today. What will Bruce think when he sees what a mess you still are? _Not that she cared what he thought. Her fingers lingered over her lips and she looked at herself carefully. Did evidence remain of his gentle ministrations? Would Alfred be able to tell she'd been given the kisses of her life last night?

_Stop it_, she thought, glaring at herself. _You're not some simpering teenager and it wasn't your first kiss. It's not as if you slept with the man…_though that line of reasoning didn't help her much, because then she was just imagining him _naked_ and kissing her. She walked out of the bathroom and back into the sunny bedroom. The realization of what time it must be struck her again and she looked over at the clock on the nightstand. It was already eight o'clock. She was still for another second and then she was digging through her things, pulling out the appropriate wear, swapping underwear, sliding into the slacks and sweater, applying a light layer of makeup and heading for the door of the bedroom, satchel in hand. Maybe Bruce and Alfred had thought it was kind of them to let her sleep in- she had been tired and stressed last night- but it was imperative she show up to school like everything was fine; if they were going to pull off fooling the gang for another few days.

She rushed out of the room and headed straight for the kitchen area, not even noticing that she was passing Bruce, who was sitting in an armchair calmly reading the morning paper. He stood up as she passed him and gave a cheerful hello, startling her so that she dropped her satchel. She flushed and bent to retrieve it only to find Bruce's hands there first, picking it up and handing it to her.

"Sorry about that," he murmured. "Didn't mean to scare you."

She grabbed the bag and slung the strap over her shoulder. "You didn't," she said shortly. "It's just that my mind is elsewhere- I'm so late for school. I didn't even have my morning run, I didn't get any papers graded last night, I won't get there until nine with morning traffic the way it is- the trains will be crowded…" Her voice trailed off as she realized Bruce was looking at her strangely. "What?"

He raised an eyebrow and gestured at the television. "School was cancelled today. Superintendent Grace seemed to think it would be the best thing to do, in light of Mr. Hardy's death."

Molly paled and turned to look at the news. "Oh, no," she moaned.

It was Bruce's turn to be surprised. "Is that bad? I thought it was rather kind of him, actually."

"He could've at least had a half day- can't you imagine how this will affect the kids? I know some of them are more familiar with gangs than most their teachers, but to lose a trusted adult in their lives- one from the only place most of them consider safe-" she stopped as she saw Bruce's expression. His disbelief made her angry. "I know what you're thinking- how can a place that allows kids to carry guns and knives and give each other Ecstasy in the bathroom be safe? Well, I have news for you-"

Bruce held up his hands. "I didn't mean anything of the sort. You're the expert on the schools, not me."

She relaxed some and stood back from him, eyeing him warily before she turned to the news again. She couldn't believe she'd let herself be kissed senseless by the man last night. His expression softened and he gestured towards the kitchen.

"Would you like some breakfast? I don't know what your morning routine is, but you're welcome to make do with whatever we have around here. There is a gym downstairs, if you take exercise-"

She waved a hand and set her satchel down near an end table. "Don't worry about it. If I feel like a run I'll take one. I don't feel like much of anything after last night, but I think I ought to go in to the school for at least a little while today. There are some papers I left- and I'm sure the cancellation doesn't apply to the teachers, too. They'll be sure to hold some kind of meeting for us."

"Grace called to leave a message for you specifically, actually. He wants you to call him back as soon as you're able."

"Oh, um, alright. I'll take care of that then." She started back towards the bedroom, stopped and turned around again. "Where is Alfred?"

Bruce smiled. "Running errands. I'll take you to the school whenever you need to go."

Her expression tightened and she started to walk away again. "I didn't know you qualified as police escort, Bruce. I imagine you're as effective as the Batman."

He clenched his jaw, but didn't reply and watched her disappear again. So that was how things were this morning. She was uncomfortable and angry about what had happened last night. He didn't blame her, truly, but if he was going to his job- _and what is it, exactly?- s_he would have to trust him. He thought they'd addressed the issue last night, but apparently she was seeing things differently in the light of day. With a sigh he raked his hand through his hair and started after her. They clearly needed to talk again.

He paused at the door, seeing she was still on the phone with Grace. She was upset again- no surprise, really. He wondered what Grace had told her, and if the man had suggested the same solution to her that Bruce had heard earlier.

"No- absolutely not!" she exclaimed, speaking into her cell phone. There was a pause and she interrupted the other speaker again. "I'm already at his apartment- penthouse- whatever! I don't see why I should have to indulge in charades just because you haven't been able to clean up our schools of gang wars yet!" She was quiet for another moment and her face went pale. "You wouldn't," she hissed accusingly. "I'm not the one who got us in this mess! It's not my fault I was there last night- no! I said no!"

Bruce could hear Superintendent Grace was shouting over the phone now as well, and Molly pulled it away from her ear somewhat and her eyebrows scrunched together before she finally broke across the man's rant. "You know what? Fine. But I'm not happy about it and the only reason I'm doing it is because you really are enough of an asshole to fire me." Another pause and she replied coolly, "Alright. Yes, I'm going to school today…yes, I understand. Okay. Good bye."

She flipped the phone closed and her shoulders sagged, her eyes staring blankly off across the horizon of Gotham. Bruce made a small movement and she turned around. Her expression wasn't angry…it was more resigned than anything. It concerned him.

"Will you be alright?" he asked. She gave him a once over and turned away again.

She shrugged. "You knew. He talked to you when he called this morning."

"I did," he admitted. She sighed and rubbed her eyes.

"You could have at least said something. Prepared me." She hung her head. "God, this is wretched."

"Will it really be so awful?"

Molly lifted her head and looked over at him. "Pretend that I'm with you so that the people assume we've moved in together and don't figure out that you're just harboring me? Really? You think people will buy it?"

"It seems to me, based on what the papers have been publishing the last week, that people are already buying it."

She rolled her eyes and looked out the window again. "Still. I haven't told a lie of this magnitude in a long time."

"You don't have to lie about anything if you don't want to. Just don't answer their questions when you're approached- their gossip hungry minds will do the rest. Stop denying it and you won't have to tell any lies."

"It's the same thing," she murmured, her voice low and edgy.

"If that's how you want to look at it-"

"It is, thanks," she replied. They were both quiet for several minutes and he finally broke the silence.

"How do you live this way? How can you stand to be so damn honest all the time?"

She gave him a wry smile and raised an eyebrow. "I don't understand how youlive _this_ way, either," she gestured around. "Not to mention that mask you've put back in place."

He looked as though he wanted to say something to that, but she waved a hand and moved past him. "Don't waste your breath, Bruce. I think I'll eventually like you well enough. You don't have to keep making excuses. At any rate, now is not the time for heartfelt confessions. Are you driving me to the school or not?"

Bruce smiled and shook his head. "Alright. Your wish is my command. We can talk about the foundation on the way." He daren't let Molly's words bother him too much. He supposed to the average, intelligent woman he was a bit of a mystery and he couldn't blame her for feeling out of place. She was perfectly right- they could save the confessions for later. Besides, there was no way he could talk about his parents with her right now and not have her quick wit catch up to the answers.

She gave him a sidelong glance as she passed through the kitchen, grabbing a travel mug and water bottle. "Yes- I am interested in that. I would have called back, but…"

"I understand."

She straightened up and put the items in her satchel, then hoisted the bag over her shoulder. "I have to admit something, though."

Bruce waited and watched as she eyed him in return, fidgeting with the strap of her satchel, tucking a stray hair back into place against her head.

"I don't just want to talk about the foundation- I want to talk about what it is no one is telling me about the shooting."

He raised his eyebrows and frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"I know the police weren't telling me something- I expect that from them. But you know something you're not saying, too, and if I'm going to be staying here and putting my reputation on the line by pretending to be your next…" she paused and flushed before pushing forward, "your next _liaison_, then I deserve to know why I'm doing it."

Bruce could feel the mask she seemed to detect so easily trying to slip back into place and he struggled to keep his stupid, play-boy grin off his face. She was right- she wasn't stupid. She deserved to know what was going on…to a certain degree. He forced his shoulders to relax and schooled his face into a serious expression.

"Alright. We'll talk about it- but after you're finished at the school. There's not enough time between now and the drive to explain it. And if Commissioner Gordon finds out I told you anything-"

Molly laughed and rolled her eyes. "Bruce, I'm a grown woman who had the common sense to know something was going on behind my back. I think I can guess when it's appropriate to reveal my sources. I know you're generally a friend of the city, but you aren't exactly supposed to know any of this stuff either, are you?" She shook her head and began to walk towards the door. "I wish I could get my hands on whatever learning resources you have at your disposal."

Bruce watched her walk away and then followed quickly, grabbing his keys from the nearby table top. Alfred was right- he would have to step carefully with her…except he wasn't sure he wanted to anymore. And that was perhaps the only thing Alfred was really right about- Bruce could no longer trust himself. A scary thought, indeed. He caught up with her at the elevator and casually put an arm around her shoulders. When she stiffened, he smiled down at her.

"Keeping up appearances. Don't worry- I won't do anything gauche."

She gave a funny laugh and relaxed. "Is that what it would take for me to get my hands on your technology?"

He looked up at the closing elevator doors and punched the button. "You'd really do anything for your students, wouldn't you?"

She gave a short nod. "_Almost_ anything. Everyone has limits, don't they? Even the Batman," she said with an uneasy laugh.

Bruce's arm tightened about her and he laughed with her. "Does he? Tell that to all those people he killed."

Molly shook her head and her hands clutched the strap of her satchel more tightly. "I don't know if I really believe all that. Anyway, it was three years ago. I'm not saying I agree with him, or even think he's much good at what he does…but he's made a small difference, at least. That has to mean something."

Bruce's eyes softened and he smiled down at her again. "I suppose so."

Molly looked up at him, but didn't return his smile. She returned his stare for several seconds and looked away abruptly. They were quiet for the rest of the elevator ride, each lost in their thoughts. Molly, on the tragedies of the schools and last night; Bruce, on the strange truth in Molly's grey eyes. He wondered how long these new feelings would last...for both of them.

* * *

**AN: Ah, another chapter and more kissing- and now I'm really setting it up, lol. Yes, this plot twist should work out. I can't believe I didn't think of it before; faked relationships are a great way to get the main characters to fall for each other (or at the very least, get it on). Enjoy! (Oh how I wish Christopher Nolan had need for a hot, independent school teacher character- maybe then I'd get to meet Mr. Bale- sigh! I'm a good writer, Mr. Nolan! Don't you want the rights to my character? Pleeeease?) Sorry for the extended sidenote- we're coming up on the final two weeks of graduate school and then graduation and we're all a little out of minds. :) (You can tell because I'm referring to myself in the plural!)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Batman franchise; all characters and ideas belong to someone else (except Molly is kinda sorta mine, pretty much) and I make no profit from this fiction!**

* * *

The talk about the foundation went well on the drive to the school. Molly was open to all of Bruce's suggestions and he, likewise, was open to hers. He wasn't about to block her expertise out of the project as a whole just because she'd been put in charge of the new mentoring program. Which she technically still wasn't aware of…he supposed he'd have to tell her soon enough, but he was a little worried she wouldn't have time to be the head of a committee. She was already so busy. Then again, she was right about him, though for the wrong reasons- he didn't really have time to be taking care of her the way he was right now. Batman had a gang to take out and Bruce had numerous responsibilities, despite his hands off policy.

Which was why he'd taken the liberty of making a few phone calls of his own before she'd gotten up that morning. So when she stepped out of his vehicle in front of the school building only to be instantly escorted by a large and solemn body guard, she let out a shriek and immediately got back into the car. Bruce had just unbuckled his belt and was opening the driver's door when she shut her own and he glanced at her strangely.

"What's the matter?"

She glared at him. "Don't play innocent with me, Bruce Wayne. What is a bodyguard doing here? I thought we were playing it like I didn't see anything last night!"

He raised his eyebrows and gave a short smile. "We are. But do you think I'd let a girlfriend who works around kids who carry guns walk about unaccompanied? Especially when a colleague of hers was just shot?"

She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Bruce refrained from laughing; he could almost see the steam rolling out her ears. She finally turned towards him again and eyed his hand on the car door. "And what do you think you're doing? You're only supposed to drop me off."

"Well, if we're going public with our relationship, we may as well make it convincing. Did you think I wouldn't see my girlfriend to her job under such circumstances?"

"Bruce, this is never going to work. No one will ever believe that you and I are dating-"

He rolled the windows down and she stopped mid sentence. "What are you doing now?"

He reached over and pulled her in to him. "Making people believe," he said smugly before he kissed her hard on the lips.

Molly gave a small cry of protest that was swallowed by his mouth and the sounds of the street around them died away as a roaring noise filled her ears. She felt his hand about the back of her neck and his fingers playing through the short strands of hair that lay there. And when he pulled away moments later she was breathless.

She glared at him again. "You have to stop doing that without warning me," she hissed under her breath.

He smiled. "Ready to make an entrance now? I have a meeting at ten."

Molly turned away and got out of the car again. This time she paused to eye her bodyguard and then started up the steps of the school. Bruce joined her quickly and took her free hand. She tried to yank it back and he leaned in.

"It's only make-believe, Molly. Play nice."

She forced herself to relax, but tugged her hand free anyway. "Bruce, if you knew anything about me you'd know I don't like PDAs."

"Not even hand holding?"

She turned to him seriously before they walked inside and gave him a tired smile, even as a few diligent photographers flashed their bulbs from behind the school fence.

"Especially _not_ hand holding. But if you're good I'll let you kiss me in front of the other teachers."

Bruce felt a grin slip across his face and he resisted the urge to pull her in then for another kiss.

As he walked her down the empty halls of the school, they talked quietly.

"How can you be so serious all the time, but still connect with your students in a meaningful manner? Doesn't teaching require a personal connection? Hugs, encouragement, hand-holding…"

She rolled her eyes and gripped her satchel tighter. "Bruce, just because I love my kids doesn't mean I have to enjoy a man making overt displays of affection in order to stake me as his territory. I don't enjoy being an object."

"So you're a feminist."

"Of course. But that's not why I dislike PDAs."

"You mean that's not why you distrust men," he shot back.

She stopped in front of an open door and turned to look at him. "Why, Bruce. I don't know what you mean. I trust _you_, don't I?" she said sweetly before standing on her tiptoes and giving him a brief hug.

"Is this it?" he asked, a little surprised at the action. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your colleagues?"

She hid a frown and stepped into the room. "If you insist."

Bruce smiled evenly and followed her, the bodyguard right behind them. "I do," he replied.

Every head in the room turned until everyone was staring. Bruce raised a hand.

"Good morning. How is everyone?"

From the back of the room came a shriek to rival Molly's from earlier. Molly thought it might have been Charlotte.

* * *

Hours later, Bruce found himself back at the mansion, seated at his supercomputer. He was doing some background research on the Russians and the gangs of Gotham. The way he saw it at the moment, he wouldn't be home to meet Molly for dinner, despite his promise to explain things. The Batman had a few dates of his own to keep.

He was sure she would understand- she'd probably even enjoy the alone time, based on her reactions that morning. He leaned back in his seat, pausing from his research. Something about what she'd said- the way she'd carried herself…it bothered him. She'd made it sound as though she'd been objectified by a man before. Not something uncommon to many women, but her reaction to all his innocent gestures was disturbing. What had she said? That she didn't like being staked as _territory_. Like property.

Only women who had a fear of becoming property didn't like chauvinism. And only women who had a reason to fear it did. He shook his head to clear it and turned back to his research. He'd find out nothing about Molly's past by _thinking_ about it. Besides, he had work to do. And the only way to find out anything was by spending time with her…which he wouldn't be able to do if he kept dawdling over the bigger picture. First, the gangs. Second, Molly. It wasn't an order he liked, but it would have to do. Molly herself would have told him so.

* * *

As for Molly, she was shuffling about the last of her papers by mid-afternoon. Most of the other teachers had gone home already and she was just wondering if she should call Bruce, or if he had some kind of canny sixth sense and would know when she was ready to leave. She pulled her satchel open and tucked the last of the papers inside and stood up, stretching. Charlotte peeked her head in the door of the classroom and gave a wave.

"You should probably leave soon," she advised the younger woman. Molly nodded and returned her wave.

"I know- I'm just waiting at this point…"

Charlotte eyed the body guard standing outside the door and then wandered into the room. "I see. On Mr. Wayne?"

Molly flushed, but didn't look away. Let them talk. She would have to; it was her only choice at this point. Surely she could endure this humiliation in order to protect herself, her job and her grandmother. Not to mention her kids- her being in danger put them in danger, too.

"You might say that," she replied.

Charlotte smirked. "You sly thing. I knew there was something going on. You were so eager to deny it earlier in the week."

Molly rubbed at her eyes and sighed. "Charlotte, do you have to be this way? Shouldn't we be grieving right now?"

"You mean Robert- yes, of course I'm sad about that. It's easier to think about your good fortune than to dwell on that at the moment, though. Do you think any of us like to think about being one step closer to death? We're not complete vultures, Molly." She paused and looked off as if remembering something. A soft smile spread across her face. "You know, Rob liked you, Molly."

Molly gave a small start and sat down again. Charlotte eyed her. "You did know, didn't you? Or at least guessed."

"I wondered," Molly murmured. "But he never said anything. Why bring it up now, anyway? It's too late."

"It was too late with you in the first place," Charlotte replied. "Your mind was always elsewhere and it's obvious to all of us that you weren't interested in dating. So that brings up a good question: was it too late because your heart already belonged to Mr. Wayne? Or is it your pocketbook and your grand plans already belong to him?"

Molly stood up again and clenched her fists. "Get out, Charlotte," she said as coolly as possible. The other woman raised an eyebrow and smirked again.

"I'm getting. Have a good night, Molly. See you tomorrow."

Molly watched her leave and then sat back down again hard. She stared at the little ornaments on her desk- a wooden schoolhouse, a miniature Gotham Tower, her name plate- and tried not to pick them up and throw them across the room. Charlotte was a hateful woman, she knew that. She'd been teaching for too long in an area she didn't really like, but her husband was stuck in Gotham if he wanted any sort of retirement package at all and Charlotte was loathe to give up a paying job in the current economy. No, the worst part of the exchange was realizing that if Charlotte felt that way, then half the other teachers did too. And if Molly was going to continue to make progress and try to make a difference in the kids' lives she needed more than half the faculty on her side. Sure, Bruce could buy their good opinions, but it wouldn't change the fact that beneath it all they were bitter and upset with her. And for what? Because Rob had liked her and she'd had the indecency to not do anything about while he was alive? Because all the single male teachers who were straight liked her and not women who were unhappy in their marriages?

She sighed and looked up at the clock on the wall. A little after one and Bruce hadn't tried to call. Well, she had meant to go see her grandmother. And what was the point in having a bodyguard if she didn't make him work for her? She stood up again and grabbed her satchel and jacket before turning off the lights stepping outside, pulling the door to. She locked it and looked up at the man.

"I'm going to my grandmother's," she said. The man nodded and pulled out a sleek phone. Molly eyed it. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Contacting Mr. Wayne. He asked to be informed of your movements."

Molly held in yet another sigh and nodded. "Alright. Come with me, then."

"Should I call you a taxi?"

She laughed and began to walk down the hall. "There are no taxis in this part of town."

* * *

In twenty minutes they were walking up the steps of her grandmother's duplex. Molly had barely brought her hand to the doorbell when the door swung inward and the nurse on duty ushered the two of them in with a grim smile.

"It's been a few days, Miss Molly," she said. "Your gran's been asking over you- why didn't you call last night?"

Molly gave her an apologetic look and gestured towards the bodyguard. "I'm sorry. I've been…busy. How much of the news has Gran seen?"

"You mean all those things about Mr. Wayne? I tried to keep those parts away from her. You're lucky she's only interested in politics and the obituaries these days. But, I couldn't keep her from watching the news."

Molly made a face and headed for her gran's bedroom. "Is she up right now?"

"She is- been asking for you every ten minutes, especially after today's front page."

Molly thanked her and wandered down the hall and into the first floor bedroom, leaving the nurse to entertain her hunky bodyguard. She hadn't caught the man's name yet, but she didn't really care. She figured when she spoke with Bruce later (and when would later be, exactly?) she could clear up the whole escort thing anyway. As in, convince him that she was fine and didn't need a man hovering over her shoulder the whole time.

She paused in the door of the bedroom and watched the older woman watch television. She looked worse than she had three days ago, if it was possible. After nearly two years of surgeries and chemo, the woman had elected to go off all treatments and enter hospice and she'd been fading fast since then. That had been five months ago, but she'd been hanging on despite all complications. Molly had a feeling that she wanted to stick around long enough to get news of her little sister's first college report card before she finally let go. Not much could keep Madge Myers down- not even acceptance of death.

She stepped into the room and knocked on the door frame lightly. "Gran? How are you doing?"

"Hmm? Who's there- oh, Salome!" She turned her head and gave her eldest grand daughter a large smile. "Come in, come in." Her smile faded to a frown as Molly moved around to take a seat next to the bed and she pointed at her. "What's this about a shooting last night? And why haven't you told me all about young Mister Wayne? You've been remiss in your grand daughterly duties, Salome."

Molly hid a smile at her gran's description of Bruce. "It isn't the way it seems, Gran," she said. "But as for Robert- it is a tragedy. He was walking home last night- we missed each other because I left before him for once."

"I liked that young man," Madge sighed. "What a shame. It's these damned gangs- they get worse every year."

"I wish you'd let me move you, Gran."

"What? Convince me to leave the way you convinced Ruth? Never. She needed to get out, at least. Live her life. No, you won't move me so easy."

"You think getting my sister to leave was easy? We spent two years convincing her to go and you know it," Molly responded. "And if you'd stayed in your treatment program she'd probably still be here. As much as I hate to see you giving up this way, I know what you were up to."

A faraway look came into the old woman's eyes and she gazed at the television screen without seeing it. "I gave my whole life to this city and you two girls- and your mother before that. I wasn't about to watch her waste her life here just for me. We all knew the treatments weren't working anyway."

"I know," Molly said quietly. "It won't make it any easier to see you go, though."

"Well, enough of that. Are you being safe? Are they taking precautions with the school? I know you were there last night, love- you can't fool me with your talk of leaving before him. You're tired and there are bags under your eyes."

"There are always bags under my eyes-"

"Not like those. Now be honest with me, Salome. Are you in any danger?"

Molly looked up into her grandmother's face and felt tears come to her eyes. She reached up and took Madge's hand in hers. "I'm fine, Gran."

"Stop lying. Your sister was always better at that than you were. Now come on. Are you in trouble?"

"I'm more worried about you, actually."

"I'm an old woman," Madge scoffed. "And I'm dying already. There's nothing they can do to me that would hurt me. Might take away some dignity, but I'm not leverage unless you make me leverage."

Molly looked away and was about to speak further when she heard voices coming down the hallway outside. It sounded like Bruce. She was about to stand up when, what do you know, he appeared in the doorway in his perfectly pressed suit, hair slicked back, and tight smile in place upon his face. She rolled her eyes and took her hands from her gran's. The older woman noticed, but decided to confront Molly about it later. The girl clearly had complications in her life at the moment. Instead, she focused her attention on the billionaire standing in her rundown, but clean, home.

"Hello, Mrs. Myers, I'm sorry for the intrusion. I just came to check in on Molly."

Molly looked up at him and smoothed out a frown. "I hope the bodyguard is watching your vehicle."

"Alfred, too, thanks for asking, darling. Aren't you going to introduce-"

Molly stood up. "Gran, this is Mr. Bruce Wayne. Bruce, this is Madge Myers, my grandmother."

The elderly woman smiled and gave him the once over. "Well, Mr. Wayne, what brings you to my humble abode? I wasn't aware the Make-a-Wish foundation was still in operation in Gotham."

"Gran!" Molly hissed, face flushing with embarrassment. She looked up at Bruce quickly and caught the smile on his face. Her blush deepened and she glanced away again.

"So are you going to be the one who convinces my girl to grow her hair out again? I saw the pictures on that awful television show- have you come to ask permission to date her?"

"Actually, I think her hair style is quite attractive the way it is. And as for permission, I can't see any reason you wouldn't approve of me."

"Oh, this one's cheeky," Madge murmured, looking up at Molly's bright pink face. "I like him." She turned back to Bruce and positively twinkled at him for a moment before turning serious. "I'll approve as long as you can keep her safe."

"Of that, Mrs. Myers, I can assure you I have every intention of doing so."

* * *

An hour passed. Bruce hadn't anticipated spending that much time collecting Molly, or even of seeing her before that evening; but when he'd received the call from the bodyguard it was as if he couldn't help himself. He'd spent another few minutes closing up shop and then driven straight from the manor into the city. He simply had to make sure she was safe and sound- to see her. And now that he had? Well, he was stuck there, making conversation with the grandmother. Not that it was an unpleasant task. The old woman still had most of her wits about her and her story was fascinating. Never mind that he was learning everything there was to know about Molly's past. Molly's protests had been derailed by one look from her grandmother and she'd actually left the room twenty minutes into their talk, claiming she needed to speak with the nurse. Bruce didn't blame her- it couldn't be easy sitting there, hearing one's life story paraded out in front of a stranger- or fresh acquaintance- romantic interest? Bruce wasn't sure which category he fit into, but he knew that Molly wasn't entirely happy with the situation.

She walked in again, some glasses of what appeared to be lemonade in hand, just as Bruce was delicately explaining about the shooting the night before. Madge glanced up at Molly sharply and Bruce inclined his head in her direction as well.

"Do you think it's the same gang?" Madge asked Molly seriously. Molly looked from one face to the other- the question in Bruce's eyes made her glance away and she set the glasses down.

"No, of course not- Gran, Bruce doesn't need to hear all this," she finished in a lowered tone.

"What other gang?" Bruce asked, standing up. He put a hand on Molly's arm. "Has this happened before? Have you been targeted before?"

Molly shook him off and gave a false laugh. "It was a long time ago-"

"Three years ago, before I got sick. Made me worry to death about your sister," Madge interjected. "If it hadn't been for the Commissioner's help then you might not be standing here, young lady."

"Molly?" Bruce inquired, turning to face her again. His hand went to her arm again and this time she couldn't shake it off. The tight smile slipped back into place and Molly stared up at him, holding eye contact, not blinking.

"Bruce," she replied. _Don't do this right now_, she was telling him. His jaw clenched and he seemed unwilling to reach a decision. "We can talk about it later," she said softly, out of hearing of her grandmother. More loudly she continued, "Have some of the lemonade, Gran. It'll wash those pills down better than the tap."

Bruce finally let go of her arm, but he slid the hand about her waist, drawing her close. "We _will_ talk about it later," he whispered in her ear before turning them both to face Madge. He smiled at her. "Either way it doesn't matter. Molly is going to be fine, I promise. I won't let her out of my sight. In fact, she- _we_- wanted to ask you if you'd like to move into my penthouse with us. It's perfectly comfortable-"

Madge's face creased into a frown and Molly hushed Bruce too late.

"Move in? You two have moved in together already?"

"Gran, it isn't-"

"Salome, just how long has this relationship been going on?"

"Gran-"

Bruce realized too late that he'd approached things the wrong way, for once (for more than once?) and he gave Molly an apologetic look.

"Get out," she hissed at him, "and let me clean up your mess, please."

Madge grew even more agitated when she saw Molly hustling Bruce from the room. "No, no- I want him to stay- he has some explaining to do, young lady-"

"Now, Gran, calm down, you aren't doing yourself any favors by getting upset this way." Molly closed the door firmly after Bruce and took a seat next to the bed. "Please, take your pills while I explain. You have to give me a chance to explain."

Madge eyed her eldest, responsible, practical grand daughter before giving a short nod and slowly taking the pills one by one.

"Thank you. Bruce and I-" Molly hesitated here. She'd never told a lie of this magnitude to her grandmother before. The woman who'd practically raised her from her infancy- the woman who had always been there for her, no matter what. And her Gran could always tell when she was lying. Molly closed her eyes and focused on Bruce, on the qualities of his that she liked. She would have to make this convincing. His hair, his eyes, his strong arms and hands…the sound of his voice when it was soft and low…the feel of his lips on hers…his generosity of spirit, not to mention how flattering it was, the lengths he'd gone to for her already. And all because of how genuinely good he was at heart…and how attracted he was to her. That was something. Those things together were a start. She felt herself blush again as she remembered their kisses and heard her grandmother chuckling.

"Well, well. So you've lost the battle to protect yourself from heartache, have you? Well good for you, Salome. You've picked quite a fellow."

"He picked me," Molly replied. She looked up at Madge and smiled. "So that's it? Don't you want to hear every gruesome detail? One blush and you believe me?"

Madge smiled softly and reached a hand out, caressing Molly's face. "Salome, I haven't seen you blush like that over a man in over fifteen years. If Mr. Bruce Wayne can make you feel that way, then I don't care if you had to keep it a secret, even from me. Let's just say I understand love pretty well. And sometimes we have to hide what we feel." She settled back against her pillows and finished her lemonade. "Now, how long has this been going on? Can I expect great grandchildren anytime soon?"

"Gran! That's not funny-"

"Because the only time I'll see them is at my gravesite, I know, I know."

Molly looked away and covered her eyes briefly. "That's not it, Gran."

"Why, what's the matter, Salome? Don't tell me there are worse things than gangs and shootings in your life."

"I actually wasn't going to say anything, but I didn't expect any of _this _to happen," Molly murmured. She looked up at her grandmother and smiled apologetically. "Oh, Gran, it was so awful last night- and this whole week- Bruce is lovely, but I hate having my picture everywhere. And I'm sure before they're finished with me they'll have all of my dirt out there for the whole world to see anyway. Nothing is sacred to those reporters."

"Salome, what are you talking about?"

"It was my doctor's appointment two weeks ago. I got the test results back last week. You know how another teacher I know has been trying to have a baby? The woman at Gotham Prep?"

"And they asked you to surrogate. I recall. I didn't approve, but I remember you telling me about it."

"Well, it's just that the extra money would have been useful…anyway, I got the results back from the preliminary exam and they were, well they indicated that I was…not viable."

Madge struggled to sit up straighter and stared at Molly sorrowfully. "Oh, my baby, that was such a long time ago- it could have been a mistake-"

"It wasn't a mistake, Gran, the doctor this time confirmed it. I can't have children. Not that I wanted any of my own to begin with, but somehow knowing that hasn't made it any easier to accept it…" Molly's voice trailed off and she put her head in her hands. "My life has never been easy, but you've always helped me pick up the pieces, Gran. What will I do without you?"

Madge rested a hand on her grand daughter's head and sighed. "I'm not gone yet, my dear Salome. I'm still here. And now you have someone else, too- Mr. Wayne. Let him help you, darling."

Molly stifled a hysterical giggle and wiped her cheeks. "Right. I'm sorry for unloading all this on you today, Gran. How are you handling it? Is you heart okay?"

Madge gave a short laugh and lifted her hand. "Don't worry about me, Salome. Keep yourself safe- make sure your sister knows to keep her head down, even if she is states away right now. And be kind to yourself. Take a vacation. I know you won't, but I had to say it. And don't wait so long before stopping in or phoning next time. And no, I refuse to move in with you two love birds- or whatever you are!"

Molly laughed with her grandmother this time and allowed her spirits to brighten. Her grandmother was right- there was no point in sighing too much. Things were what they were and she couldn't change them. Not sitting at her grandmother's side, waiting for her to die, anyway. Even if her partner at the moment was Bruce and the last thing she wanted to do (aside from shagging him, because she definitely did not want to shag him) was face anything with him, she had to get up and move forward. Meet the future. That sort of thing. (But no shagging!)

* * *

Bruce elected not to ask Molly any questions on the drive back to the penthouse, even though Alfred's driving meant he had plenty of time. He was too wrapped up in everything he'd heard that afternoon…especially the things he'd overheard. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop on Molly's private conversation with her grandmother. It was just that he'd heard how positive the elderly woman had sounded about Molly's reaction to him that he'd stayed by the door longer than he'd meant to. He glanced over at her. Her face was as serious as his, staring out the windshield, completely closed off in her own mind. He imagined that discovering you couldn't have children would do that to any normal woman- or man, for that matter. Her whole life was caught up in children, after all. Even if she'd never actively wanted one, he was certain she'd envisioned it from time to time, perhaps quite by accident. But then there had been that strange reference to the past again…she grew more mysterious the more he found out. Without thinking, he reached a hand over and rested it on hers, not saying a word. Molly started slightly at his touch, but didn't move her hand. She looked over at him and he caught her eye before bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing it softly. Pink crept across her cheeks again and he smiled at her.

"How about dinner out? It seems we owe one another some explanations. We'll stop at the penthouse to get changed, of course."

She withdrew her hand gently and fixed her gaze out the windshield again. "I'll take a rain check for Saturday night. Tomorrow's Friday and I have school in the morning and papers to grade. I can cook for myself if it's too much trouble."

"We're not making a very good start to this relationship."

"It's not my fault you've never dated a working girl before, Bruce. Any other woman in my position would tell you the same thing."

"I beg to differ," Bruce muttered.

"Don't pick a fight with me now, Bruce," Molly said. "You've intruded in every part of my life you can. Let me at least do my job and I won't interfere with yours- whatever that is."

"Ouch. And here I thought we'd agreed that I'm not a superficial bastard."

"You aren't," Molly said quickly. "But that doesn't change the fact that you are interfering in my life. If I were to do the same for your important work- and I know you do something important, otherwise you wouldn't need such a ridiculous public persona- wouldn't you get a bit tired of me?"

"At least your grandmother likes me," he responded, changing the subject.

"Leave Gran out of this."

"Come to dinner with me tonight."

"Order takeout."

Alfred stopped at a red light and Bruce turned to face her. She continued to stare straight ahead.

"You won't let me win."

"And you'll do whatever you want to anyhow, so I don't see why you're even bothering to ask me for my opinion," Molly shot back, finally turning to look at him. Grey eyes met brown and neither budged. A soft chuckle drifted back to them from the driver's seat and Bruce blinked.

"Fine. Just to prove that I know how to compromise, I'll order take out. But Saturday night I am taking you to the fanciest damned restaurant Gotham can offer and you'll drink your wine and simper appropriately at me while we discuss my very important business. Think you can handle that, or will you be grading papers then, as well?"

Molly smiled. "Didn't you guess by now, Bruce? I'm always grading papers."

Bruce turned away as a car behind them honked and the sleek sports car sped off down the avenue. He had a feeling this was only the first of many compromises he would be making.

* * *

**AN: I'm sorry this update is soooo late! I was busy doing more important things for a while, like earning a Masters degree. :) Sigh, boring plot development chapter. I hate these, but I often find they are the most interesting to read later on. Well, we'll see. Enjoy!**


	8. Chapter 8

**I own no part of the Batman franchise; all characters and ideas (except for Molly!) belong to...someone else? DC Comics? I have no idea, but I'm not making any money off of this fiction.**

* * *

Molly went to bed that night feeling strange. There had been no more come-ons from Bruce, no unexpected kisses or inappropriate suggestions. Only take-out, papers and the evening news…except for the soft glances and gentle touches Bruce had administered throughout the evening. It was like he'd put on kid gloves and Molly wasn't sure why, unless his visit with Gran had unearthed something. He was so smart- it was hard to tell what he'd picked up from just a passing mention of past events. To compound the confusion, the meal was quiet on his side, punctuated only by questions as he dragged answers from her…if she discounted what was said- what was _done_- afterwards by both of them.

* * *

"Tell me about this previous incident," Bruce said, taking the plate Alfred offered. Alfred had been mercifully quiet after their uncomfortable spat in the car, but had given her a wink as he'd handed her own plate over.

Molly was immediately on guard and pushed the food about on her plate, trying to buy some time. "It was really nothing, Bruce- Gran made too much of it then and you'll make too much of it now."

He was silent, but his eyes spoke volumes and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She detested being made to feel like she was fourteen and sitting in the principal's office. She'd never sat under an authority figure a day in her life, after all. Why should Bruce Wayne make her feel so small now? She straightened her shoulders and looked up at him.

"Fine. I'll tell you about it. But please try to keep in mind that this is my life we're talking about. I'm sorry you've been dragged into all of it-"

"I'm not," he interjected quietly.

"-but you have no right to interrogate me or treat me like I don't know anything."

"I wasn't aware that was what I-"

"Was doing? Of course it's what you're doing. And if you're not aware you're doing it, then that means you never have to apologize for it. Well, I'm calling you out, Bruce. You're an arrogant, chauvinistic man with control issues and Heaven help me, but it hasn't really bothered me until now. Maybe I enjoy the reversal just a little- after taking charge all my life it's nice to relax and know someone else is in control. But this is too far. I'm a grown woman and I won't be treated like a china doll!"

Bruce gave that short, tight smile again, eyebrows raised in surprise as he looked down at his glass of- what was that? Scotch or just apple juice? Molly couldn't tell. She wasn't sure she cared. So the man was an enigma, so what? She'd still called him out. She exhaled slowly and sat back in her chair, keeping her arms and legs uncrossed. She wanted him to know she wasn't afraid of him (even if she was, just a little). He finally looked back up at her and inclined his head.

"That was certainly…honest," he murmured, before lifting his glass and taking a drink. Molly smiled. She'd rattled him a little. Maybe a lot?

"Thanks for acknowledging it."

"But you still haven't said a word about-"

"I was getting to that," she said smoothly. "About three years ago, I was lobbying really hard for one of Dent's friends. He was going to…turn the school system around, starting with law enforcement in our street gangs. I thought it was a place to start- you know, get the criminals off the streets so that the kids can go to school in safety. Even the best kid can go bad if he or she is badgered enough by a recruiter. Anyway, I knew some of the leaders in one of the gangs that was terrorizing our school's neighborhood, so I gave the names to this man, who gave them to Dent." She paused and took a drink of her own, wishing the water in her glass were vodka. That would certainly make the look Bruce was giving her easier to take.

"They found out about it," Bruce supplied and she nodded.

"They found out. A week later my apartment was broken into. Gran wanted me to move back in with her, but then she got a rock through her window…two days after that it was bullets in her siding and she had to have the front door replaced. My apartment was broken into again and this time they left a…present. That was when Commissioner Gordon stepped in. He had police watch put on my block and Gran and Ruth took a vacation for a couple of weeks. It was probably the first time she's ever out of the city against her will, but we were both worried about my sister."

"And what happened while they were gone?"

Molly gave Bruce a sharp look. "Nothing. The miscreants were apprehended and Dent stepped down from the case. He was dead a few months later anyway and after that I didn't hear anything from the gang leaders."

"You weren't accosted?"

"What happened back then is none of your business anyway, Bruce!" Molly exclaimed. "Damn it, of course I was accosted- but nothing happened! Gordon's men stepped in before anything could happen."

"You were bait?" Bruce looked at her incredulously and Molly turned her attention back to her food.

"It was our only option at the time. Street gangs haven't exactly been the Batman's target, after all. I doubt he appreciates the grunt police work that brings in the small time thugs all the time. Besides, the Joker wasn't exactly the kind of thing Gotham PD was having any luck with back then. There are always going to be bigger fish to fry."

Bruce looked as if he wanted very much to say something and downed the last of his drink instead. Molly glanced up from her food and gave him a tired smile.

"Have I answered all your questions now?"

"You don't think that gang has anything to do with this one, do you?"

"Why should they? The case was closed, their trail is safe now- I'm no threat."

"But they know you- you've caused trouble for them before. It's possible that you'll be mentioned if anyone starts asking around about this shooting."

Molly rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to her food. "Look, you wanted to know what happened; I told you. Gordon has all the details on the case if you're really interested." She looked at him thoughtfully. "What's your connection to him, anyway?"

Bruce helped himself to another plate of food and tucked in. "He was the attending officer on my parents' murders."

Molly nearly dropped her fork and her eyes widened. "I see. I'm so sorry, Bruce, I didn't mean to bring that up-"

"I know," he replied. "Please, don't worry about it. That was a long time ago."

They were both quiet for several minutes, eating and thinking, before Molly spoke up again.

"It doesn't matter if it's days or years," she murmured. "That sort of thing doesn't leave you. There's a sense of abandonment…God knows plenty of my children have lost one or both parents. It affects the rest of their lives."

Bruce's jaw clenched and he simply nodded. He didn't want to engage in this conversation, not now. There were too many questions involved…like the one she was about to ask.

"Are you…are you okay now? How did you deal with it?"

"I didn't," he said shortly and stood up.

Molly watched him carefully, her attention entirely on him, her face wary. He sighed.

"I know you've just lost a colleague, Molly- I understand that is difficult for you, but please don't try to speak about abandonment and my issues just because your students have experienced some of the same things. It's different when it's personal-"

Molly did drop her fork this time and she continued to stare up at him, bewildered and upset. "I'm sorry, Bruce- I was only trying to-" she stopped short, unsure of what she meant to say.

He watched her flounder for words and sat down again, apologetic and somewhat ashamed. "No, I'm sorry. It's just that Alfred and I…we don't really talk about it. I never really talked about it. I know you were just trying to help."

"That's not it," she replied quietly, retreating into teacher mode. "I don't know what I meant. I wanted to…understand you a little better, I guess." She jumped a little as Alfred walked out to take their plates from them.

"Are you finished, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked, looking down at Bruce- not his plate- with accusing eyes. Bruce looked up at him and winced.

"Yes, thank you, Alfred. Molly?" he asked. She nodded and pushed her plate away.

"May I help, Alfred?"

Alfred looked from one to the other and back. He smiled gently. "If you insist, Miss Molly. I'll wash and you can dry. Why don't you take the dishes for me and I'll be right in with the rest of the food."

Molly got up quickly and Bruce put a hand out as if to stop her. "You wanted to know something, too," he began. She shook her head.

"Thanks, Bruce. We can talk about it tomorrow, or Saturday night- I'm pretty tired right now. I think one heavy discussion per day is enough." Then she turned and carried the dishes away. Alfred turned back to Bruce as soon as she'd disappeared into the kitchen and leveled a shrewd look at him.

"What?" Bruce asked.

"I know you apologized already, Sir, but before you go mouthing off to Miss Molly about not understanding things, you might want to remember that she was raised by her grandmother because her parents abandoned her and her sister one after the other when they were just girls."

Bruce paled and clenched his fists. He swore under his breath and Alfred gave him a sharp look. "Yes, well, that sort of language won't do much to make her feel better, I'm certain. You might try ordering flowers, instead."

"I'm sorry, Alfred," Bruce murmured. "I was so unprepared for her to ask about them- I wasn't thinking. She's too close right now, to everything…"

"That is not her fault, Master Bruce. You've done a very good job of dragging her into your life, yourself."

"I know. I apologize. Should I-" he hesitated and gestured at the food. "Should I take these out? Talk to her, you think?"

Alfred smiled and began to pick up the dishes. "I think not, Sir. I'll speak to her. I'd like to get to know Miss Molly, myself, if you don't mind."

Bruce sat back from the table and watched as Alfred cleared the table and then headed into the kitchen. Alfred was right, as usual. He would let the older man speak with her before he said anything, himself. He knew exactly what was wrong with him; he was nervous about how much she knew about him, never mind that his parents' deaths would always be a sore subject. But his nerves had made him react callously and without thinking. And with a woman who was already on her guard around him, how could he hope to undo the effect his behavior had on their tenuous relationship?

* * *

When Molly finally emerged from the kitchen, a smile on her face and a chuckling Alfred just behind her, Bruce had taken to the long balcony overlooking the cityscape. The glass doors stood open and he'd turned on the radio so that a soaring orchestral accompaniment spilled out onto the deck along with the bright lights of the penthouse. Molly thanked Alfred and bid him good night before she wandered over to the doors. Her shadow stretched out in front of her onto the tile of the balcony and Bruce turned, acknowledging her presence.

"Molly," he said softly. "Let me apologize for my words earlier. I wasn't thinking clearly."

She didn't respond, but walked across the deck to stand next to him. She looked out over the city and took a deep breath.

"There's nothing to apologize for, Bruce," she said after a few moments. "You weren't prepared to talk about those things with me and I butted my head in where it wasn't welcome. I'm sorry. I guess I just feel as though we ought to get to know one another…and what could be more telling than one's childhood?"

Bruce gave her a small smile. "That much is true. I'm surprised you even need to ask any questions at all, though- you've been reading me since the moment we met."

She eyed him and leaned against the railing. "And you haven't been doing the same thing to me?" she asked wryly.

"True enough. I'd drink to that if I had a glass in my hand."

"Hmph," was all she said to that and he graced her with his smile again.

"Your grandmother is quite a character," he offered, trying to steer their conversation to safer topics.

"Neither of us really want to talk about my Gran, do we?"

He set his jaw and gave in. He knew he wouldn't be able to put her off forever. "No, you're right. What did you want to know?"

She stood up straight and gestured towards the cityscape. "What does my little street gang fiasco have to do with all of this?"

Bruce gazed out again and placed his hands on the railing before him. "I shouldn't say anything."

"I have a right to know. You promised."

"And I thought we just agreed earlier to keep it until Saturday evening."

She laughed. "Don't you know anything about women? That was my way of trying to keep the peace. It didn't mean I was actually happy to wait. Besides, you know all about me, now, and I still know hardly anything about you-"

"I imagine Alfred enlightened you to quite a bit."

She sighed and ran her hand over her short locks. Bruce admired the way it was beginning to curl about her ears and he almost caught himself reaching out a hand to tuck a strand out of her face. He shook himself slightly and turned away. Molly eyed him askance and looked down at their hands. They were so close to one another, but it felt as if he were miles away- miles put between them on purpose. And after he'd kissed her so well the night before. She sighed again.

"He said a little. But he's hardly the sort of man to disclose all your secrets without your knowledge. My grandmother, on the other hand…"

"She said something about your hair, about getting you to grow it out again," Bruce interrupted her. It was like speaking with the older woman; he couldn't help himself. Every chance he had to ask about Molly, he'd taken. And just watching her run her hands through the soft, downy cap of snowy blonde hair had set his fingers itching to touch it himself. It made her seem so delicate... He turned to her with an apologetic smile on his face for interrupting her again only to find her staring off moodily this time.

"What about it?" she asked.

"Why did you cut it? It seemed important to her."

"I think you were right," she began. "I think we should wait until Saturday night to discuss things, as you seem determined to put me off every time I ask."

She turned to go and Bruce reached out and grabbed her arm. The position was so similar to last night's in the kitchen that Molly felt herself leaning towards him without thinking. His hand went up to her hair and he stroked it slowly, softly. Her eyes widened at the movement and she came out of the moment with alarm, jerking away from him. He stared at her, confused, concerned and she frowned.

"You want to know why I cut my hair?"

He nodded once, but it was accompanied by the start of an apology and she laughed shortly.

"Would you like the honest answer or the, 'I'm a woman and I felt like it,' answer?"

"Molly, I'm being a boor. You don't have to explain anything to me-"

"No, I should, I suppose. It's better if you know how your new _girlfriend_ operates, isn't it?"

"Molly-"

She stared at him, proud, but fearful, shoulders thrown back and he stepped forward, wishing he could just take her in his arms and undo the last five minutes. Kiss them away. Kiss away the last twenty years, even. That would be a good start. Their eyes locked and she gave a strange little smile.

"It's harder for a man to grab hold of short hair," she said simply.

Then she turned and walked back through doors. Bruce watched her go, emotions ranging across his face as he processed what she'd said. He stayed where he was even after he realized what it meant, watching her pick up her satchel and cross the living room to enter her bedroom. Only when the door shut, granting her some privacy, did he move back inside as well. She'd given him a lot to consider, never mind all the work the Batman had to do that night. Still, he somehow had a feeling that even in his rage induced crime fighting, all of Batman's thoughts would be on one beautiful woman…the only one that he couldn't help. The only one that didn't want his help.

* * *

He waited until Alfred informed him that the light in Miss Molly's room was out and then he began to prepare for his evening's jaunt. He was just walking across the living space to check on one of his secret supply closets when the door to Molly's room opened and she poked her head out. Bruce froze in his tracks. He wasn't wearing anything but his boxers, anticipating suiting up soon, and he hand was hovering right above the hinged key pad for the closet.

"Bruce?" she asked as she saw his tall figure pause next to what appeared to be a blank wall. "What are you doing?"

He turned slowly and saw her eyeing him from her doorway, a few yards away. He eased a smile onto his face and shifted position so that he was leaning against the wall.

"I might ask you the same thing," he replied, eyeing Molly's sleepwear. Gone was the ragged set of yoga pants and t-shirt. In their place were a lacy camisole and panties. He suddenly realized that although her light may have been out, she had probably still been in the process of getting ready for bed. Maybe even sitting up in bed, grading, her day's clothes discarded, but too tired to get into her proper pajamas. He felt a smile cross his face at the thought and knew he was two steps away from lecherous, especially after what she'd said to him earlier.

Her eyes, however, were no less fascinated with what they saw. She'd taken in the hard, muscled line of his body without even realizing it at first and when she did, she blushed and began to look everywhere but straight ahead.

"This is…awkward," Bruce murmured. Molly bit her lip and looked as though she wanted to laugh. "Do you need something?" he asked her, gesturing towards the kitchen.

She bit her lip harder and eyed him. "I- well, I was just…I heard a noise and thought I would see what it was," she finished, blush high along her cheeks now.

Bruce willed himself to stay put, but his feet began moving of their own accord. At least, that's what he told himself later on. At the time it happened, he wasn't aware what he was doing until Molly made a small noise of alarm and tried to retreat back into the bedroom.

"Bruce?" she asked again, looking up at him as he advanced on her.

He stopped only when he was standing right in front of her. "There is a robe hanging in your bathroom, I believe," he responded softly.

"Why would I need-" she began, but stopped abruptly as she realized what he meant. She looked down at herself and paled before flushing again and folding her arms in front of her chest.

Bruce leaned against the wall again and continued to eye her. He needed to get back to business, he knew that, but Molly standing in front of him that way was too tempting; and he was still bothered by what she'd said earlier. Molly looked up at him and watched the expression on his face change. She was tempted to take another step back, but didn't. He didn't intimidate her, after all. Who was he? Just a billionaire with secrets…who liked her. And kissed really well.

"What?" she bristled at him, her tone a little impatient.

Bruce smiled softly. "Are you okay?" he asked her.

She knew what he meant immediately and nodded slowly. "I'm fine, Bruce. All those things…they happened a long time ago."

"I'm not talking about the gangs," he began, but she cut him off.

"I know that. We've covered the whole, 'Molly's not an idiot,' thing, haven't we?" she replied, her answering smile rueful.

He was quiet for a few moments, but he continued to look at her seriously. A hand reached out and he smoothed a few strands behind her ear before he spoke again. She let him, not breaking eye contact with him, looking at him just as seriously, though a smile was on her face.

"You're okay."

"I am," she confirmed again.

"So you won't mind if I kiss you again," he murmured, moving even closer.

"Bruce," she replied, "I may have ethical considerations against it and you might be the most infuriating man I've ever met, but I'm hardly going to stop you from doing that-"

Her voice was cut off as his lips closed over hers and he gently took her by the shoulders, carefully holding her away from him. He was afraid that if he did much more than kiss her in their half-clothed state that he _would _end up hurting her, somehow. He wasn't sure how, exactly, but his brain also hadn't moved much beyond the thought of kissing her again. He plied her lips tenderly and felt her arms coming uncrossed; her hands came to rest on his chest and she leaned into him, despite his efforts to keep her a safe distance from him.

She seemed to realize what she was doing and her fingers curled over, sending a shiver up his spine. His hands crept from her shoulders to her back and she suddenly found herself pressed against him, cradled in his strong arms while he continued to ravage her mouth- his ministrations growing more desperate the longer they stood there.

Molly finally turned her head, breaking the kiss and he pressed his mouth to her forehead, his hands not relinquishing their grip on her.

"…I probably _should_ stop you, though," she breathed and heard him laugh, felt it rumble in chest. His bare chest, which she was pressed against quite firmly.

"I doubt you could," he murmured into her hair and his fingers made gentle circles on her back. She shivered.

"I was just- I should go to bed now," she said, lifting her head from his shoulder, pulling her hands away from him. He looked as if he might protest, but instead nodded with resignation and let her go. He leaned an arm on her doorframe and gazed at her as she walked back inside.

"That wasn't an invitation, was it, Molly?" he called after her softly.

She turned, her brows raised in surprise, and shook her head. "No, Bruce, it wasn't. Someday-" she paused and started to lift a hand towards him before she stopped and shook her head again. "No. Good night, Bruce. Don't stay up too late."

She shut the door and he stood there a moment longer until he heard her light click off again and the tell-tale rustle of bedclothes. With an inaudible sigh, he leaned back against the wall and covered his eyes briefly. So, it seemed kissing her was a good way to distract her. Well, that was fine. Kissing her was something he _liked _doing. The only problem was that he would have liked to do other things as well, and Batman didn't need those sorts of distractions foremost in his mind when he was on the job. He straightened up and looked at the closed door, wishing he could just explain everything to her then, keep it out in the open, show some honesty in the relationship. Was she the type of woman who would be upset he hadn't told her sooner?

He shook his head. Where had that thought come from? He was already assuming she wanted to be with him, too. Well, just because a woman kissed you back didn't mean she wanted a relationship. He ran a hand through his hair and heard a foot fall behind him.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred's voice filtered out of the hallway.

He turned and waved at the older man. "I'm here."

Alfred eyed his proximity to Molly's door and gave him and interested look. "That is not the supply closet, Master Bruce," he said.

Bruce furrowed his brow and began to move back towards his own room. "I'm well aware of that, Alfred. Very well aware."

* * *

**AN: Yay! Another chapter! Soon we will introduce the head ugly man in charge, wheee! **


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Batman franchise and make no profit off this fiction. Everything belongs to someone else. (But I wish it were me!)**

* * *

Batman slammed his fist across the man's face again. Blood spurted out of the man's nose and across the feet of the man tied up beside him.

"Tell me who you work for!" he roared into the hoodlum's face.

"Jesus, Ricky, just tell him!" the man's friend exclaimed.

"You tell him, rat!" Ricky managed to choke out around the blood in his mouth. "Hit me all you want, Bat…man, but I'd rather you haul my ass to jail than sell out those bitches," he finished with a strange wheezing noise. Batman dropped him and stood up. He looked at the other man and back to Ricky.

"Have it your way," he rasped. "I'm sure the Russians will enjoy knowing that you escaped the clutches of the Batman. I'll find someone else who'll talk." Then he turned and pulled out his grappling gun.

"Wait, wait- hold up, man, you're not taking us to jail?" the other man called out to him. Batman turned back around, a smile on his face.

"Why take you to jail and wait for the system to work when the Russians will do the job for me?"

Ricky got a wild look in his eyes. "Wait, you can't do that! You're the Batman! You can't-"

"There's no point to me holding you two if you don't know anything."

Ricky coughed up some more blood and leaned his head back. His friend looked from one man to the other, panicked. "Okay, okay, man! We'll tell you- we'll tell you everything!"

Batman loomed over them both. "Let's hear it," he growled.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, he was dumping their unconscious bodies on the front steps of Gotham's central police department. He swooped up to the roof as officers swarmed out of the station to collect the gang members and paused at the top to turn back and oversee his latest handy work. The door to the roof opened and he turned his head.

"Commissioner," he said.

"Are you responsible for the two goons my men are bringing in? Wait, stupid question. Don't bother answering. Is this tied to the Russians?"

Batman inclined his head. "Yes. I have names. Vodyanoy. Heard of him?"

"No, but I can have my men run the name through our database-"

"Don't bother. They won't find him. It's a Russian word. The rough translation is Water Goblin."

"Water Goblin? Now that is a name I've heard. I thought it was just another crazy left over from Arkham. There were some rumors coming out of the Narrows…"

"I need to know what you know."

"You're taking care of it yourself-"

"I also need the case file on your teacher."

"Molly."

"She was targeted by a gang a few years ago."

"You think the same gang is involved now?"

"Don't you?"

Gordon eyed him and let out a sigh. "Fair enough. You want the files now?"

"I'll pick them up later tonight. Leave me the key and I won't break any locks."

"You'd pick them expertly anyway-"

"I'd rather have your full cooperation. I'm heading to the Narrows now. I'll check in tomorrow night."

"Alright- I'll have a copy made and waiting for you."

"Don't make any copies. There's no telling who else might be looking for that information."

Gordon ducked his head and ran a hand over his hair. "Fine. I'll see you-" he broke off as he heard a whoosh and looked up.

The roof was empty once again.

* * *

Deep in the underground garage of an abandoned warehouse along the waterfront of the Narrows, a rather large man was busy smirking at his underlings. He sat back in his chair, folding his hands across his heavily muscled belly and looked at his minions smugly.

"Who is this great _Batman_, eh? He doesn't even know I exist! And as for his alleged involvement in destroying our ties with the homeland, we have no need of Mother Russia; we are running the city without them perfectly well!"

"We understand your point of view, of course, Vodyanoy, it is just that some of our contacts are not as stoic about the turn of events as you are. Besides, there is the matter of this shooting-"

"Ah, yes, the shooting. And do we know which of our miscreant _exchange students_ it was who pulled the trigger?"

"Sasha has confessed, sir, but I am afraid that there has been a…complication."

The man known as the Water Goblin sat up and eyed his henchman narrowly. "What…complication?"

"It's the same problem as before. He says there was someone else there- he didn't see them after he first shot the man, and afterwards he didn't want to stay on the scene any longer. He assumed whoever it was would not be able to identify them and it would serve as a warning, leaving someone alive."

"And what makes you think the circumstances have changed? This was a quiet operation until Sasha got his big ideas. He was out of line to have shot that teacher- he is simply making up stories now to save his own neck!"

The henchman stepped back and gave a careful nod. "I couldn't agree more, Vodyanoy. But the police and the Batman, as I said before, have begun to sniff around about the shooting more. They are not necessarily onto us yet, but I believe it is only a matter of time. They must have someone informing them. There must have been a witness!"

The Water Goblin closed his eyes in frustration and after some moments, forcibly relaxed his face. "Fine," he said, lifting his eyebrows and leaning back in his seat. "Find out more about this teacher. Perhaps that will lead you to a potential witness. In the meantime, I do not want to hear anymore about Sasha and his guilty, troublemaking conscience."

"What do you want us to do about him?"

Vodyanoy looked up at his henchman from beneath heavy lids and smiled lazily at them.

"Deport him."

* * *

Molly was awoken in the middle of the night by the sounds of heavy footfalls in the hall outside. She sat up in the bed and had just reached over for the light switch when she heard voices as well. One was Alfred. The other was hoarse, gravelly, and she didn't recognize it…or did she? Somewhat alarmed, she slid from the bed and walked quietly over to the door without turning on the light. Very slowly and softly, she turned the doorknob and opened it a crack. The hallway was dark as well, but she could just make out two figures- one supporting the other- and she could hear their voices more clearly now.

"And how did that approach work out for you?" Alfred asked, a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

"Alfred, if you'll just get me to the bedroom I can take it from there." The other figure suddenly raised his head and seemed to glance about. "Is Molly-"

"Asleep. And if you think for a second I'm going to allow you to take care of these wounds yourself, you are quite mistaken, Master Bruce."

Molly bit her lip hard to keep from gasping and kept her body as still as possible until she heard the voices fade and another door down the hall closed. Then she closed her own door again and made her way back to the bed, where her knees gave way. What was going on? Bruce had gone out after she'd seen him a few hours ago, that much was clear. But why? And how did he end up injured? Was he a member of some secretive fight club? She snorted into the dark and slid back under the covers. No, now she was being ridiculous. Perhaps he'd been out at a club and managed to wreck one of his precious sports cars. That was far more likely. And the _approach_ Alfred had mentioned? No doubt he'd been trying to pick up the wrong man's girlfriend. After all, even with a live-in school teacher of a paramour, she supposed billionaire playboys had needs and reputations. Never mind that none of this was real to begin with. And with that, she rolled over and went back to sleep. Or at least, she tried to.

* * *

She awoke early the next morning while the sun was just rising and met Alfred, who was just bring up the morning paper. He took in her exercise shorts and sports bra and raised an eyebrow, but did not say a word. She smiled and walked past him into the elevator.

"I'll be back in forty minutes," she offered. Alfred waved the newspaper at her.

"How do you like your eggs?"

She laughed. "No eggs, please. Hasn't Bruce heard of cornflakes?"

Alfred watched the elevator doors shut and then walked back to Bruce's bedroom. He detoured through the kitchen to pick up his protein drink and then grimly opened the door. Setting the drink and paper down by the side of the bed, he walked over to the blinds and opened them enough to let the morning sun shine through across Bruce's face. The younger man groaned and rolled over.

"Bats are _still_ nocturnal, Alfred," came a muffled response. Alfred smiled.

"I thought I would inform you that Miss Molly has gone out for a morning jog. I didn't see the bodyguard you'd hired outside, so I wanted to know what your plans for her protection are-"

"Shit," Bruce murmured, then shot out of bed. He walked over to the dresser, where he pulled out some long pants and a t shirt. The clothing would effectively cover his injuries from the night before, but he was moving stiffly and Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"You aren't thinking of accompanying her yourself, are you?"

"It's too late about the bodyguard- we didn't know her morning routine yet so I couldn't schedule one. I'll have to catch up to her."

"With all respect, sir, you're in no condition to go jogging this morning."

"Are you offering to take my place?" Bruce asked, turning around as he struggled into the pants.

Alfred looked very much as though he'd like to say something else, but he simply raised his hands in resignation and sighed.

"I'll put your drink back in the refrigerator, sir."

"Thank you, Alfred" Bruce murmured as he passed out of the room, still tugging the shirt over his head.

He collected his sneakers at the door and Alfred just rounded the corner in time to see the elevator doors closing once again.

"Of course, Master Bruce, it's not a problem. I'll just wait here for the fallout from your coming to Miss Molly's rescue every twelve seconds, shall I? Why, thank you, Master Bruce, I don't mind if I do have some coffee while I wait. Perhaps I'll read the paper as well," he said aloud to the empty penthouse. With a knowing smirk on his face and a glance heavenward, he swept back into the kitchen.

* * *

Bruce stretched in the elevator and then jogged through the lobby, nodding hello to the desk clerk and pausing outside to ask the doorman which way Molly had gone. The fellow pointed left down the street and Bruce took off in that direction. He'd barely gone half a mile when he saw her up ahead, her pale blond hair glinting white in the morning sunlight. He admired her form from a distance for a minute more: the straight line of her neck and shoulders and subtle curve of her hips and buttocks in the snug shorts. Shaking his head as he felt the stiffness in his own muscles being replaced with a slow burn, he sped up enough to overtake her. There was no sense in getting overly excited at the moment. Alfred was probably right, he shouldn't be out jogging in his condition- and if that was the case, then he really shouldn't be participating in any other sorts of athletic behavior. Not that he couldn't handle a decent beating once in a while- it was more like he hadn't expected news of his interest in Vodyanoy to travel so quickly after his collar of those two gang members and as such, hadn't expected the next villains he met to be prepared to welcome him with hunting knives…which was still one of the only weapons they hadn't quite figured out how to foolproof the bat suit against. Not to mention that even if it didn't break the suit, he could still feel a tire iron's impact. But hey, if he couldn't go jogging five miles the morning after a run in with a few hoodlums and a knife to the ribs and a few bruises, then he wasn't much of a crime fighter, was he?

He jogged behind her a few seconds longer, until she turned her head slightly and moved to her right a little to let him pass her, then pulled up beside her. She did a double take and frowned.

"Can't I even exercise in peace?"

"I'm not leaving you alone," Bruce ground out.

"It's thirty minutes!"

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

She snorted and sped up. "I didn't know you cared."

Bruce clenched his jaw and matched her new pace, though it caused him some pain. She eyed him and a smug expression descended upon her face. He decided not to take the bait and they jogged in silence for several minutes, until Molly took a right to start the jog back to the penthouse.

"So this is the route you plan on taking every morning?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, before understanding dawned on her. "Oh. So this is just a friendly surveillance jog, is it? Well, no, Bruce, I don't know if I'll keep the same route, so you'd better tell my bodyguard that and have him meet me in the lobby every morning." She looked over at him and smiled. "Or maybe I can just move out and we can forgo this entire stupid charade."

"Do you always talk this much when you jog?" Bruce asked through clenched teeth, the air hissing in and out of him.

She narrowed her eyes and looked ahead again. "Only when the man I'm supposedly sleeping with shows up at three a.m. with injuries and so sloshed he can't stand."

Bruce glanced at her in surprise this time and shook his head. "It's not what you think," he began, but she cut him off.

"I think you're hiding something from me. What that something is doesn't really matter to me. I'd just like the truth before I let you distract me with anymore kisses." She smiled grimly at him. "Now tell me it isn't what I think."

Bruce was silent one second too long and she put on an extra burst of speed, crossing a crosswalk just as the light was turning red. Bruce started out after her only to be impeded by a taxi and the angry horns and shouts of more than one driver. He shouted her name. She didn't turn around.

He was behind her by several yards the entire way back to the building, but she kindly held the elevator for him and despite the glares they sent one another they were silent on the ride up. Alfred looked up at them from setting the table as they reentered the apartment, Bruce moving slowly after Molly, doing his best to hide his limp. Molly thanked Alfred quietly for finding some cereal for her and set to her breakfast without any more words. Bruce eyed her with some hostility and Alfred put on as stern a face as he could without insulting his employer, telling him to have a seat.

"Here's your drink, Master Bruce. Miss Molly, may I pour you some coffee?"

"The juice is fine, Alfred, thank you."

The old butler nodded and shuffled back into the kitchen after exchanging another glance with Bruce. He appeared again a minute later, holding an ice pack.

"Is that pulled hamstring still bothering you, sir?" he asked Bruce as he handed him the ice and an ace bandage. "Would you like me to wrap it for you?"

"I can do it myself, thanks," Bruce practically growled, snatching the items from Alfred.

Molly eyed the scene serenely. "I'm sorry, Bruce. I wasn't aware you'd injured yourself so badly. I would've slowed down if you'd asked."

Alfred had trouble hiding the smile on his face and Bruce frowned up at him. "That will be _all_, Alfred. If you'll excuse us."

Alfred nodded again and smoothed his grin out. "Of course. I'll be in the kitchen," he murmured before leaving.

Bruce turned to Molly and smiled tightly- not a happy smile, not a sarcastic or joking smile…just tight. Angry. She lowered her spoon slowly and reached out a shaking hand for her glass of juice. Bruce put his own out and covered hers, stopping its movement. He noticed that her hand was suddenly trembling. So. She could act, could make the decision to be a hard-ass if she had to, but she had a heart, too. Well, he already knew that. Or was it the other thing? Was his demeanor frightening her in other ways? He wondered how long it had been since her last relationship with a man, since the last time she'd stuck up for herself to a man she was- well, almost- sleeping with. He turned his hold of her hand into a caress and she looked up at him. Her eyes were still hard.

"Does your loving gesture mean you're ready to tell me the truth?"

He pulled back and shook his head. "You're not ready for the truth."

"But I am ready to let you make love to me, is that the idea?"

"Molly…"

"Whatever, Bruce. I have school in an hour. Are you driving me again or is Bruno taking me?"

"Bruno?"

"That big idiot you've hired."

"His name is Ashley, actually, and yes, he'll have the car here whenever you need it."

"Are you ever going to allow me on the train?"

"Maybe. If you start taking your position seriously."

"I take my life seriously every day that I live it, Bruce Wayne," she hissed, but relented a moment later. "Look, I'm sorry if I made your injuries worse this morning, but I really, really need some space from you right now. I'll see you tonight." She stood up. "I'll probably be late. Drama Club meets tonight with our new co-sponsor, so we'll take a little longer to acquaint him with the kids and vice versa."

"That's fine. I may be late, myself." He watched her smile and then head back to her room. He called out to her suddenly, before she reached her door and she turned back to him.

"What is it?"

"I just…I just need you to know that it wasn't what you think, last night. I want you to understand that."

The smile disappeared and she shrugged. "Like I said earlier, Bruce, I don't really care what it was. All I understand right now is that you're keeping secrets when all my cards are already on the table." With that, she vanished into her room, leaving Bruce sitting at the table, a slowly melting ice pack in one hand.

* * *

**AN: Ta-da! More Russian, Slavic and opera references. They seem to be creeping into a lot of my fanfiction these days, actually. I'm a little taken with the cultural superstitions at the moment. In pursuit of information, I was reading about the Baba-yaga character of the witch and how she appears all across Slavic culture. The description of her house in the woods sitting on chicken legs reminded me of a children's book I read when I was little: Bony Legs (which is, turns out, just a retelling of the story). Anyone remember it? Great illustrations. **


	10. Chapter 10

**I own no part of the Batman franchise and make no money off this fiction! Poo.**

* * *

The day had been slow and long and Molly was more than ready to leave school as Drama Club practice wrapped that evening. She'd been carrying the tension of Rob's death and her fights with Bruce all day and balancing those with the charade of being Bruce's mistress was especially difficult. She hated lying to her students, most of all. She knew most of them didn't care that she had already supposedly lied about not dating him, but there were a few, like Tony, who had looked at her with sad eyes and it hurt her. She'd worked so hard to gain their trust and now, because of some thugs, she was forced to betray it. There wasn't any time to feel sorry for herself, though. She'd been busy all day and Drama Club had been no different. It was with a relieved smile that she called that night's rehearsal to a close. As Molly helped one of the students coil the extension cords, she heard a noise behind her and turned her head.

"Tony!" she exclaimed, surprised. "You missed rehearsal. Did you introduce yourself to Mr. Spitz? He's our new co-sponsor," she explained, patting the other student on the back and watching him roll the sound board away.

Tony scuffed a shoe against the floor and shook his head. "I don't know if I can keep coming to Drama Club, Miss Weil," he murmured. Molly detected some nervousness and leaned against one of the auditorium chairs, ignoring the closing bustle behind her.

"Oh, Tony, we really need your help. It's okay that you missed tonight, you know. I understand you have a new job, and-"

The boy's head snapped up at her words and he stared at her, wide-eyed. "I don't have a new job," he denied miserably. Molly looked at him carefully, then smiled.

"I'm sorry," she said smoothly. "I guess I was thinking of someone else. Selene was just telling me about something the other night, but I guess it wasn't you. I've been getting confused easily lately," she laughed.

Tony seemed to look at her accusingly and he turned away. "I guess I would get confused too, if I was telling so many lies."

"Tony!" Molly said sharply. "That was uncalled for. Is this about Mr. Wayne? Are you upset, too?"

When he didn't say anything, she sighed and put a hand on his stiff shoulder. "I'm sorry I lied about it, Tony. But he's a very important man and I didn't want to-"

"What? Tarnish his reputation or some shit? You're amazing, Miss Weil," he said earnestly. "You're like, ten times as cool as he is."

Molly watched him quietly as his face grew red. "That's very sweet of you, Tony, but it's not how the rest of the world sees things. Now, why were you really asking me about him the other night? I know there's something going at home, Tony. I know you're unhappy. Please, is there anything I can do to help?"

Tony's eyes widened again and he shook his head. "No, Miss Weil. Why? I'm fine- my family, we're cool." His eyes hardened in a way Molly hadn't seen before and she chastened herself mentally for pushing the issue. "No offense, Miss Weil, but we really don't need your help. I- I can take care of my own family," he finished in a rush and the gun was pulled from beneath his coat before Molly realized what was happening.

"Tony!" she hissed, glancing over her shoulder. "Put that away!"

"I can't do that, Miss Weil. I'm really sorry, but I can't do that-"

"Tony," she said softly. "Please don't do this here, at least. Why don't I let you walk me out into the hall. We can talk out there, away from the other kids. Is that okay? Doesn't that sound better?"

Molly's heart hovered somewhere in the vicinity of her throat as she waited for his reply and when he finally nodded uncertainly and gestured at her with the gun to start walking, she felt sweat break out on her brow. It wasn't the first time in her life she'd been held at gunpoint, and not even the first time a student had done it. But this was Tony, a boy she'd known for a couple of years now, and she was fond of him. He was a good kid at heart, not a killer. It was more than scary to have him pointing a gun at her like he meant every word he said. _It's those damned gangs,_ she thought. _They got to him so he would do anything to belong, to stay in their graces. If I could, I wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in every gang leader in the city,_ she thought viciously. It was with a start that she realized she meant it and she stopped abruptly outside the auditorium doors so that Tony bumped into her.

The gun went off.

Molly, at first frozen by her thoughts and then by the impact of the bullet in her side, doubled over and heard Tony swearing behind her.

"Shit! Holy shit!" he screamed. "I didn't mean to, Miss Weil! Shit, oh my God, shit, shit!"

There were shouts of alarm drifting out to them from the auditorium and Molly barely registered when another gun was suddenly pressed against her head.

"Is this her?" a new, guttural voice asked.

Tony blubbered a response and Molly heard another gunshot- it wasn't aimed at her, though, and a moment later she heard the thud of a body and suddenly couldn't hear Tony anymore.

Too petrified, too furious to say anything for the tears of pain and rage welling in her eyes, Molly grit her teeth and choked down the sobs threatening to spill. _Tony!_ she screamed in her mind. _Don't kill him! He's just a little boy! He's just a little-_ her thoughts went black as the butt of a gun came up against her skull and effectively knocked her out.

* * *

Bruce tapped his fingers against the balcony rail and stared out over the darkened city, brooding. There were footfalls behind him and he whipped about, Molly's name on his lips, only to see Alfred bearing another drink.

"No word yet, Master Bruce. If I may ask, why haven't you tried calling her?"

"She's angry with me. She said she would be late tonight. I have to show her I trust her."

"Sir, brooding out here like some Byronic hero won't do either of you any good-" Alfred was interrupted by the telephone and he turned, startled. Bruce immediately rushed past him and snatched at the phone himself, rather than let Alfred answer it as was customary.

Alfred watched from the doorway as Bruce's face paled and his lips drew themselves into a thin line.

"What do you mean, you heard gunshots? Why weren't you waiting for her inside?" Bruce railed. There was a pause and then he practically shouted into the phone. "Who gives a damn about the car? You were hired to protect her, not let her get shot and kidnapped! Fuck!" he snarled into the phone, slamming it back into its cradle.

Alfred moved back into the penthouse and set the drink down. "What do you need me to do, Master Bruce?"

Bruce looked up from his thoughts, almost startled to see Alfred standing there. "I- uh- Molly's been kidnapped, possibly shot, by some gang members. She was taken right from that damned Drama Club of hers. The police have been called, but…_shit_," he finished harshly, covering his face with both hands. Alfred stood by and waited for him to speak, knowing that Bruce would work things out his own way. He had utter faith in the boy he'd raised. When Bruce lowered his hands, his mouth was still tight but color had returned to his cheeks.

"Better hold dinner," he murmured. "I'm suiting up."

"Ah," said Alfred. "Shall I make any phone calls for you?"

"No, the police have been notified. I'm not sure how long it will take me to find her, but if these men are as sloppy as shooting in the school while other people are still around, I shouldn't have too much trouble." He paused in his path to his room and looked back at Alfred. "Thank you, Alfred."

"Always my pleasure, Master Bruce. No stop wasting time and go save Miss Molly. I'm rather fond of her."

Bruce smiled briefly. "So am I, Alfred."

* * *

Molly woke to a damp rag patting her face and blinked several times before her vision cleared from the blur of a black out. The right side of her torso felt like it was on fire and there was a dull ache in her head. She tried to twist in her seat, to get comfortable, but found she couldn't move. She was tied to the chair she was sitting on. She had been abducted. Her eyes widened at the realization and she immediately turned her head to take in her surroundings only to have the dull thud blossom into a roaring pain and her vision blurred again.

"She's awake," called a voice.

"Good," answered another voice. "Give her the aspirin. She will need it. I do not understand why these Americans enjoy shooting their guns so much! It is such a waste of time and money, when a well placed verbal threat will do the job equally well."

The man wiping her face grasped her jaw and shoved two pills into her mouth before he lifted a glass of water and forced her to swallow. She nearly choked, but the man's hand stroked her neck, urging her to swallow as one might do for a dog. The thought made her smile weakly and some of the water spilled from her mouth. The man swore softly in another language and she focused on his face. Russian again. _Shit_.

So it was a Russian gang? Why? That made no sense. There was the occasional Russian exchange student in Gotham, but certainly not a large influx of immigrants. With a flash of understand, Molly suddenly understood that this was what Bruce knew more about than he'd let on. She found herself wishing they had had that dinner date the previous evening after all. Then maybe she would have had some answers and been on her guard when Tony…_Tony_.

"Tony?" she mumbled, questioning. The word was off her lips before she caught herself and the man in front of her stood back, surprised.

"What was that?" called the other man.

"She asked about the boy," her caretaker replied.

"So she is coherent," the other man murmured. _He must be the boss_, she registered. The man walked around into her line of sight and she saw he was tall and large and not very attractive, though he was dressed well and exuded a sick charisma. His body blocked out everything else in the space, he was so big and she barely glimpsed what looked like a closet or warehouse door behind him before the single bulb over her chair illuminated only their three figures. She didn't recognize anything about where she was, except to hazard a guess that it was near the river, somehow. But the large man…there was something frighteningly familiar about him. He shoved the other man out of the way and towered over her.

"Why are you so concerned about the boy, eh? He is nothing to you. You should be asking us if we are going to let you out alive, dorogaya," the large man rumbled at her.

The endearment hit her in the gut like a fist and she blanched. "You…" she breathed, sick to her stomach.

The man narrowed his eyes and stared at her hard. "Do you think you know me, little one?"

She bit the inside of her lip, drawing blood. The pain grounded her, reminded her of why she was there. "No," she choked. "Tony…where is he? You…sick bastards," she finished to cover herself.

The man seemed satisfied with her response and chuckled darkly. "He is being taken care of," he replied. "Now, you will answer some questions for us. Anton," he commanded, motioning the caretaker back to her side. "Let us begin."

* * *

**AN: Did anyone see this coming? Not me! I thought for sure it wouldn't happen for another couple chaps. Oh, well. Yay, drama!**


	11. Chapter 11

**I own no part of the Batman franchise and make no money off this fiction. Boo-hoo.**

* * *

"She doesn't know anything," Anton protested as the large man- she'd heard Anton call him Vodyanoy- lifted his hand again.

Vodyanoy didn't even bother looking at him as he sneered down at Molly's shivering form. "She knows more than she is telling."

"How would she know the Batman? She's told you all she can about the shooting. All she knows is what she heard and that is not much. She cannot even identify the shooters. Why did you bring her in?"

Vodyanoy brought his fist up under her chin again and she flinched away from it. He laughed and opened the fingers to slide them along her jaw in a caress. Her whole frame shuddered violently and she vomited without warning. The large man jumped back, snarling at the mess and swore loudly.

"Anton! Bring me a towel!" he commanded as the younger man stepped forward, as if to help her. "No, you will tend to her later. Right now, you bring me a towel. I will clean up dorogaya's mess myself."

Molly looked up into his face as she heard the door shut after Anton. It was a mistake. Her eyes met Vodyanoy's and his narrowed. "My presence unnerves you, little one."

Molly shook her head, coughing on the remainder of the vomit as it finished trickling from her mouth. The smell was rancid in her nostrils, but at least it blocked his scent. She remembered him, remembered the smell of his cologne. How could she have ever forgotten when it was all around her, once? But he didn't need to know that. Not if she ever wanted to get out of here alive.

"I asked you once already, little one. You think you know me? Answer me!" he yelled at her, lifting his hand again to grip her jaw despite the mess, forcing her face up to his again. Forcing her to look at him.

"I never knew you," she finally hissed out, returning his icy glare as steadily as she could.

He continued to stare at her closely, eyes still narrowed, searching her face for recognition. Within seconds, he released her jaw and straightened up, his eyebrows high on his forehead in surprise. "Your name is not Molly," he said.

She looked away then and the man laughed softly, recovered from the initial shock of realizing what he held in his possession.

"What is you name again, little one?"

She pressed her lips together and refused to speak until he leaned forward again and grasped her upper arms. With an inhuman display of strength, he lifted her- chair and all- off the floor and brought her head up to eyelevel. Her face contorted with pain and fear as his hands crushed her arms and her legs dangled helplessly in the air. "Tell me your name," he said slowly, as if she were an idiot.

She spit at him and he dropped her with an angry shout. The jolt of the chair hitting the floor raced up her spine and she let out a cry of pain as it toppled over and her right side- the one already hosting a bullet wound- smashed into the floor. Her head suddenly felt very heavy and she was pretty sure it had bounced at the impact, but things were growing fuzzy again and the pain was back in large waves, making it impossible to think. Bile found its way up her throat again and she felt herself choking on it.

Vodyanoy's shadow crossed her and she could see his feet before her and then he squatted and filled her vision again. "I will find out anyway, stupid girl. Tell me now and maybe I will not lock Anton out of this room."

Molly continued to choke and struggle for air. When she opened her mouth again to finally reply, more bile and blood spilled from her lips to the floor in front of her. Vodyanoy's cruel face smiled at her struggle and he slammed a large hand against her back in what was supposed to be both a helpful and frightening gesture. It worked. Molly rolled her eyes up to his and flicked them away again just as quickly. The shivering set upon her body again and she let her eyes fall closed. She would pass out again soon.

"Your name, dorogaya."

He was right, there was no fighting it. Whatever he wanted to know, he would find out. He always had.

"Salome," she breathed. "It's Salome. Remember me?"

He rocked back on his heels and laughed delightedly, as if he'd just been presented with a shiny new gift.

"Of course! I recognized your last name, but now…now I recall everything, quite well," he remarked easily, letting a finger trail down her dirty cheek. "It will be a pleasure becoming reacquainted, dorogaya. It's such a shame you cut your hair. It was so beautiful. Tell me, how is your mother?"

"Dead," Molly answered weakly. "The same as you'll be, soon."

An expression of surprise crossed his face and he stood up again, grasping the back of her chair and righting her with the motion. Her head fell forward weakly and he laughed again.

"Oh, my dear girl. I wish you pleasant dreams, but I am not going anywhere. And I'm afraid that now, neither are you."

* * *

Bruce arrived back at the penthouse in the early hours of the morning, as dawn was just beginning to grey the night sky. Alfred heard him come in and met him at the doors to the balcony, helping him into the apartment swiftly and settling him in a seat while he bustled off to the bathroom for first aid supplies.

"No, Alfred. Wait," Bruce mumbled as he pulled off his mask. Alfred turned back to him expectantly and walked back over.

"Have you found her, Master Bruce?"

"No, but I'm close. I'm going to pass the information on to Gordon. Where's the phone?"

"You don't want to wait-"

"I can't afford to wait. If Gordon hasn't retrieved her by tonight, I'll go out again. But I can't wait all day without someone doing something. The stories I've heard about that man…"

"You're certain it was the renegade Russian?"

"Who else would it be? Damn it! If only I'd put that GPS on her person instead of her bag…this entire thing is my fault. Alfred, what will I do? What will I do if-"

Alfred knelt in front of his charge and boss quickly and took his shoulders. "Master Bruce, don't think like that. Don't even think that way. Miss Molly will be alright, once you find her and you will find her. Worrying about what might happen won't help her at all."

"I just…I can't lose her like Rachel, Alfred. I can't do that again."

"And you won't. Now get out of that suit and go take a shower. The commissioner called after you'd already left last night, wanting to speak to you about her disappearance. Since you're officially a couple, he seemed to think you might know something."

Bruce cracked a weak smile. "Imagine that. Well, I'll get cleaned up. I'll call him after I've sent him the leads I found." His smile tightened and he clapped a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "Thanks, Alfred."

"Don't thank me yet, Master Bruce," the older man replied before he stood up and moved away, leaving Bruce to his thoughts.

Half an hour later, Gordon was being buzzed up to the penthouse. He entered cautiously, unsure of what he'd find, but he was greeted by a haggard looking Bruce Wayne.

"Mr. Wayne," he greeted. "Odd timing for a trip across country, yesterday."

"I had an unavoidable business meeting. I came back as soon as I could when I heard the news."

Jim Gordon's eyes narrowed appraisingly and he nodded once, making a note of something on a pad of paper. "So how has the charade been going?"

Bruce looked startled. "I'm sorry?"

"The charade of your relationship with Molly, Mr. Wayne. How is it going? Have you two been fighting, did she seem pleased with the situation?"

Bruce frowned. "Not that it's any of your business, but it wasn't entirely a charade. Miss Weil and I have…an interest in one another."

Gordon glared at the other man openly, not caring how tall he was or how much he bench pressed. He got up into Bruce's face and challenged him directly.

"Look, Mr. Wayne. I know we have history, but my history with Molly trumps anything you and I might have. Everything that goes on in this case that is directly related to her _is_ my business so I suggest you get used to that right now."

Bruce stepped away from him smoothly without really giving any ground. "I understand that perfectly, Commissioner," he replied. "But I don't see how my relationship to Molly- whatever it is- is related to her being abducted by a lot of thugs."

"We received an interesting tip just a little while ago," Jim responded, changing the subject.

"Yeah? Good, let's hear it."

"There's some renegade Russian mobsters at work in the city. It's been reported they may be working with a gang that Molly tried to take down a few years ago. Sound familiar?"

"She did mention a few things to me," Bruce allowed. Besides, nothing the Commissioner said was surprising, considering all the tips came from the Batman.

"An anonymous caller told us that the Russians were holding her for information on the Batman. It seems the Batman was spotted at the shooting crime scene a few nights ago before the police arrived. They're assuming she knows him, somehow."

Bruce paled, but didn't give any other sign of agitation. This was new. This tip had not come from himself. "Someone from inside the operation called you," he murmured.

Gordon nodded. "It seems that way. Look, I'm sorry for asking those questions earlier. This situation is very stressful. We need to get her back alive and we're running out of time. Witnesses know what we're talking about, but are so terrified of this figure they won't say a word." He gave a frustrated snarl and slammed a fist against the door.

Bruce watched him carefully, unsure if there was anything he could say that would help. "She's not completely helpless, Commissioner," he finally murmured. "She knows how to take care of herself."

"I know that. But these are seriously nasty men we're dealing with, compounded by the fact that she's already been shot and we don't know how bad the wound is…"

"The boy couldn't tell you anything?"

Gordon's face grew even grimmer. "He died late last night. Never woke up," he said gruffly. Suddenly he looked up at Bruce, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How did you know about the kid?"

Bruce shrugged, working hard to keep his heart rate normal. He'd slipped up big-time, but it wouldn't do to let Gordon know that. "I hear things, Commissioner. This is practically my city, after all."

"Huh. Well, look. You'll get no more classified information out of my department. We have to play this close to the vest. I hope you understand that, Mr. Wayne." By which he was really saying, "I hope you can stay out of this and not endanger the rescue anymore."

Bruce nodded. He answered a few more of the commissioner's questions and promised to get the flight itinerary from the day before to him. Then he shook the man's hand and bid him a good morning. He leaned against the door wearily after shutting it and turned his head when he heard Alfred's steps.

"The police don't know much more than I do," he said. "But they have an inside informant. Alfred," he continued, turning around, "what sort of villain is most likely to inform on his cohorts if they're holding an injured woman captive?"

"Someone who isn't really a villain?"

"Right. But what sort of people work for these syndicates, but maintain some humanity?"

"If you're asking me seriously, Sir, I'd have to say someone who probably doesn't work for them full time. Whose career or home life keeps him grounded. Another school teacher, perhaps…but if Miss Molly is injured, they would probably some sort of medical professional close by, as well."

"A doctor, of course! That's where I'll start."

"Master Bruce, you do have some other appointments scheduled for today-"

"Cancel them all. I'm not going anywhere until I'm suited up again and that won't happen without more information." Bruce paused on his way to the apartment's office. "Actually, Alfred, I believe I will go out today. I want to check up on Molly's grandmother. She might know something about the gang that Molly never mentioned."

"That sounds like an excellent idea, Master Bruce. I'll telephone her and set up a time."

Bruce waved a hand over his shoulder and continued on his way. He was getting somewhere, finally. He only prayed Molly would still be alive when he got there.

* * *

**AN: What will happen to Molly and how does she know Vodyanoy? Gasp! All will be revealed next chapter!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I don't own Batman, okay? And I'm sure as heck not making any money with this fiction.**

* * *

Molly struggled in her bonds, so intent on her actions that she didn't notice Anton had turned around again and was watching her carefully. She jumped when he walked over to her quickly, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Stop that! I am sorry you are uncomfortable, Miss Weil, but you must cooperate. Vodyanoy is not a man you want to cross." He stopped talking and offered an apologetic smile. "Now let me see your face. Come on. I just want to help." He lifted a cotton round to her face and daubed slowly at the cuts and bruises she had sustained from her earlier interrogation.

Molly winced at the antiseptic and tried to jerk her jaw out of his hands, but he caught her face firmly. "If you really wanted to help me you would let me go," she hissed at him.

Anton frowned and backed away to get another tube of something for her wounds. "You know I cannot do that," he murmured. "Don't bother asking."

"You saw what he did to me! And I don't know anything!" she yelled at him.

"Please, be quiet!" he whispered hoarsely at her. "If anyone hears us…if anyone thinks that I could be swayed by you they would have no reason to trust me." He walked back to her and knelt down. "I want to help you, but you have to cooperate…for now. Please."

Molly looked at him for a long moment and then glanced away, her body stiff and eyes stony. "I don't want your help, Doctor," she said bitterly and Anton stood up again.

"You will before he is through with you," he replied. He applied the rest of the salve to her wounds as swiftly as possible and then left just as quickly. Molly turned her head and watched the door swing shut after him. This time, however, the lock did not turn in its place and she stared at the door curiously. Maybe he was coming right back? But minutes passed and he did not reappear. Was this his idea of helping her? She couldn't even move and he'd left the door unlocked- she began to struggle against the rope that bound her once again and felt it slide off her arms and pool on the floor. Startled and confused, she stared down at her freed limbs. What was going on?

She tried to stand and fell to her knees, the wound in her side aching with the effort of picking herself up. She'd been strapped to the chair for hours now without food or uninterrupted rest, though Anton had given her water and some kind of saline solution at some point. She took a moment on the floor to gather her thoughts. She was stronger than this; she had to be. It was possible Tony was in the same building somewhere and she still needed to try and get herself to safety. Cautiously she felt at the bandage on her side and winced. So, Anton had removed the bullet and stitched her up. It still ached terribly and she couldn't tell whether it was still bleeding or not, but she didn't have time for dawdling. She had to take advantage of the risk the doctor had taken.

After several deep breaths, Molly levered herself to her feet and crept along the floor to the door, knees bent and hands up. As she paused at the door to listen she looked over at the table and saw a scalpel and some syringes. Without another thought she picked them up and stuck the capped syringes in her pocket. Then, scalpel held before her, she opened the door slowly and snuck out into the hallway.

* * *

Bruce knocked on the doorframe of Madge's room and the elderly woman turned her head to smile at her visitor.

"Why, Mr. Wayne! What a pleasure to see you!"

Bruce didn't question her good spirits; the nurse had already told him that she'd kept the information on the previous evening's shooting and abduction from the old woman. According to her, her charge didn't need any extra stress in her life right now. So, as much as it pained him to keep such vital information from Molly's grandmother, he would keep quiet for the sake of her health. After all, Molly wouldn't thank him for giving her grandmother a stroke or heart attack.

"Hello, Mrs. Myers. I just thought I would stop and see if I could scare some more information out of you about Molly."

Madge snorted and reached for her television remote, turning off the daytime soaps she'd been catching. "Good luck with that, Mr. Wayne. I know what you're really after."

"What's that?" he asked, raising his eyebrows as he took a seat by her bed. She looked him over carefully before nodding to the darkened television.

"I know full well what's going on out there. That woman doesn't fool me one bit. You want to know if I can help you find my grand daughter."

Bruce was genuinely surprised this time, but he was careful not to show it. "And can you?"

Madge's eyes dimmed and she looked down at her hands: twisted and weak on the bedspread. "I don't know. Maybe if you ask the right questions I'll say something that will help, but I don't know the details of any of these gangs or the things that Salome's dealt with in the last several years." She looked up at him, her eyes fierce again. "I'll at least try to help. I want you to get my Salome back safe and sound. What's left of this family needs her and her students need her."

"The police are doing all they can," Bruce said softly.

"And you? What are you doing, Mr. Wayne?" Madge replied, her eyes wise and worldly. Bruce stared back at her for a long moment before he looked away. He cleared his throat and leaned back in his seat.

"I have certain resources at hand," he admitted. "But right now, they include you. So tell me, please, whatever you know about the situation with the gangs."

She nodded at his words, seemingly satisfied, and replied. "I know she tried to take them down, that our lives were threatened. But we never heard anything else after Dent's death. It nearly killed Molly to give up that case, but she had to. We wouldn't have survived it. _She _wouldn't have survived. They were really gunning for her."

"Was the gang she was going after at all affiliated with Russians at the time?"

At that, Madge sat up straighter, inducing a coughing fit. Bruce stood up and helped her ease back against her pillows, rubbing a hand along her back and lifting a glass of water to her lips. Madge finally waved him off irritably and frowned. Bruce sat back down, though he leaned towards her expectantly.

"Russians," she whispered. "Are you sure? I mean, there are Russians involved now?"

Bruce nodded. "Positive. Molly heard their accents and some of the language the night the other teacher was shot and Commissioner Gordon has brought it to my attention that there may be some independent mobsters operating out of Gotham. Do you know any Russians at work in Gotham?"

Madge closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "No, not currently. At least, I sincerely hope not." She opened her eyes again and looked at Bruce. "A long time ago, Salome's mother dated a Russian. It was right after their father had left and she was desperate for a man to rescue them. He was very rich, well established…in a seedy way, if you know what I mean."

"What happened with him? Did he have bad connections?"

"Did he…yes, you might say that. Money and nice gifts appeared out of nowhere, he never told us where he worked. Just that he 'had a business.' Now that I think about it, it's perfectly possible that he was with the Russian mob and we never realized. My daughter was never very quick on the uptake," Madge murmured, her face sad.

"So did he leave? Is Salome still in touch with him?"

Madge frowned again. "I dare say she is not," she growled. "The son of a bitch. I should have made Kathy report him at the time, but she thought it would be best for Salome if we didn't say anything. So he might still be out there, is that what you think?" She turned accusing eyes on Bruce and it was his turn to frown.

"What do you mean? Was there trouble with him? Did he threaten the family? Did he abuse your daughter?"

"No, he had…Mr. Wayne, I don't know if I should even be telling you this…"

"Mrs. Myers, your grand daughter is out there somewhere and this man may be a connection between this gang and the mob. We need to know what you do. Please, tell me. For Molly's sake."

Madge looked at him sadly and shook her head. "Alright. You're right, of course." She paused and took a few deep breaths before she began talking. "The man…I don't even remember his name. He had some sort of nickname; it was the only thing I ever heard Kathy call him. She really didn't date him very long. What was it…Vodyanosh, I think. I can't be sure after all this time. We haven't spoken his name in this house for a long time, Mr. Wayne," she apologized. Bruce made a dismissive gesture and tried to smile reassuringly, despite the terrible feeling brewing in his stomach.

So…Vodyanosh. That was a diminutive form of Vodyanoy, wasn't it? That made the odds that it was the same man operating the renegade syndicate as had known Molly all those years ago very, very good. Or very bad, depending on how you looked at it. Bruce mulled this over briefly while Madge continued to speak.

"He seemed fond of her girls, too, which was part of why they moved so quickly. If they went to an opera together- always some Russian story- he would often suggest the girls go with them. Ruth was a little too young at the time, so she stayed with me, usually, but Salome would end up going places with them. Sometimes she stayed the night with her mother and that man, too. I didn't think much of it- who would, really? I was happy that Kathy was happy, even if I didn't really like the man…but then Salome started to have nightmares when she stayed over with me. And then I caught her in a closet one night with a pair of sheers." Madge choked on a memory and her eyes filled with tears of long buried sorrow and anger. She turned to Bruce.

"She had the most beautiful, pale blond hair when she was a baby. It was shining and practically white. A true tow-head. Her mother was so proud of her hair; they made sure to grow it out nice and long. All the other mothers were so jealous when she went out with that little girl and Salome was as proud as punch of it, herself…and then I found her hacking it off in the dark one night and I knew. I just _knew_ something had…well. She wouldn't tell me about it. She refused to talk to me until she'd seen her mother. Kathy was beside herself. She blamed herself completely." Madge picked at her bedspread helplessly. "I never asked Salome about it ever again and it was the last we saw of him. Kathy never quite recovered from the guilt, I'm afraid. I lost two of my baby girls that year, really. One to death and the other to the world. Salome was never quite the same after that. Still the kindest woman, generous- but hard."

Bruce's face had set into an impenetrable mask as she spoke. He wasn't sure what he would do if he let himself feel beyond the need to find Molly just then. Tonight, though, there would be a bloodbath. For all his high-minded ideas of what separated himself from the men he put behind bars, he knew that if he came face to face with this man, this Vodyanoy, that one of them would walk away from the encounter dead.

* * *

**AN: Sorry this is so short, comparatively. I've had it sitting around a few days and just couldn't bring myself to write anymore under this chapter, so it's standing alone. More story soon, though! **


	13. Chapter 13

**I do not own any part of the Batman franchise. It all belongs to...DC comics? Some movie conglomorate? Ah, well.**

* * *

**AN: Whew! I was gone a long while, wasn't I? My apologies. Hope you enjoy this chapter. **

* * *

Molly didn't bother to ask the questions of how she had avoided those guards, or why the door to the warehouse wasn't locked, or who had left her a cell phone so conveniently on a nearby table. The answers to those questions didn't matter; at least, with a painful bullet wound in her side and a mouth full of cotton they didn't. All that mattered to her was that she had finally managed to crawl her way out of the damned place and was in the open air again.

Now, for the set of questions that really mattered: could she sneak past the men she knew would be watching the warehouse and its surrounding district? Did she remember Bruce's cell phone number? Should she call the police instead? Almost immediately, she disregarded the last thought. Calling the police would be foolish; how often had she read in the newspaper or seen the evening news reports of police who'd gone into a situation blind and turned up with more of their own dead than the criminals? Too often, that's what. No, they needed more information than what she could give them if they were going to try and take down this organization. She shivered and crouched low behind some barrels as she heard voices approaching. They passed right by the shadows where she was secreted and after another moment she began to crawl forward again. It was already dark out; she'd taken an extra- and risky- chance on giving the warehouse they'd kept her in a once over, in the hopes of finding Tony.

Eventually she'd had to admit defeat and make her way for the main doors and freedom, or potential freedom, really. Now that she was outside, she wasn't sure what she should do first. If she called someone while she was too near the warehouse someone might hear her speaking. If she took to the streets someone might find her and victimize her again; and she was in no condition to defend herself. She finally opted to crawl forward slowly in the shadows. It was taking forever and she knew that with every second she tarried that it was more likely her absence would be noticed. In fact, she was surprised no one had sounded the alarm yet, already.

Another set of footsteps passed near her and she paused in her movements again, crouching as low as she could. Doubling over sent waves of pain down the side with the bullet wound, but she bit her lip hard to keep from crying out. She was struggling for her life, here and well she knew it. That bastard would never let her go if he found her again now, trying to escape. He'd probably use her one last time for old times' sake and then have her killed. Or maybe just have her killed, though he seemed like that type to want to savor a victory. And he would definitely see having her back in his grasp as a victory, after losing her so many years before. After she'd already escaped him once.

The pain in her side was swiftly turning into a deafening roar in her ears and Molly squeezed her eyes shut tight. If she could just power through it, get a few more blocks away from the warehouse, away from the docks. She knew she was in the Narrows, it was the only place that it made sense for someone like Vodyanoy to hold court; but she didn't know the area well enough to say for certain she was heading in the right direction, towards the city. She was somewhat disoriented, to say the least, in pain and frightened from her brush with the demon of her past. Her hands crept up to her head and tugged on her short locks at the memory of him and she winced again. No, now was no time to lose it. She'd made it this far. Just a little longer and then she would open the phone and dial for help. Just a little father.

* * *

Batman was perched atop a building in the Narrows, scanning the nearby streets and alleys for any sign of life or activity from the Russian thugs when his earpiece crackled to life in his ear.

"Alfred," he grunted. He knew the man would never have called this number if it wasn't an absolute emergency.

"Miss Molly has called the house," came Alfred's crisp voice. "She is on her cell phone somewhere in the Narrows. She managed to escape and is badly wounded. Your computer can trace the number if I patch her through to you?"

"Do it," he replied. A moment later her scared, hoarse voice filtered through to him.

"Bruce?" she asked. "Alfred said you were busy-"

The voice of Bruce Wayne issued from the Batman's mask, making the switch from scary tough guy to pampered businessman effortlessly.

"Nothing is as important as you right now. Where are you? Describe the buildings."

"This was stupid of me," she whispered. "What can you do to help? I should have called the police-"

"You did the right thing, calling me first. I'll contact the police as well, but I have resources they don't. Describe where you are," he insisted, even as he knew his computer was triangulating the signal's location.

"Uh- warehouses. Lots of dirty, broken windows- there's a cross street nearby. Dumpsters- fuck- what was that-"

The call started to break up. "Molly? Molly!" Bruce said harshly into the night. No one answered, though the call did not disconnect. He waited a beat or two before descending to the streets. His computer sent him the coordinates a minute later and he was off and running in her direction immediately. As he crossed block after block, her voice came back to him.

"Bruce? Are you still there?"

"I'm here."

"Someone walked past. I had to put the phone down." She gave a shuddering gasp and he put on an extra burst of speed before taking to the buildings again, propelling himself from one to the next. "This is insane- I don't know why I even called you-"

"I told you I had resources," he said angrily as he swooped down to her huddled figure, his night vision reading her form clearly.

"Bruce? I-" she stopped talking as she saw the shadow pass overhead and looked up into the face of the Batman. "Bruce?" she whispered. There was a sheen of sweat upon her brow and even in the dim light he could see she was pale and shaking. Her hair was plastered to her scalp and there were bruises along her face and arms. He snarled and she cowered away from him.

"Hang up the phone," he told her in his gravelly voice, reverting back. She closed the phone, her eyes never leaving his face. "Give it to me," he said and she handed it over obediently. He took it, ripped it open and then threw it into the nearest dumpster before throwing a match in after it. Then he scooped her up into his arms and hurried away. He used his grappling line to lift them to a nearby rooftop and in the moonlight he examined her quickly.

"Does it hurt when I move you?"

"Everything hurts," she muttered weakly. "There was a doctor there-"

"I know," he said gruffly. "He called the police. The police called me."

"So Bruce didn't call you?" she asked him.

He looked up at her after he'd repacked her wound and studied her for a second. His eyes searched her face for something- was it trust? She couldn't tell. She was feeling feverish and weak and her mind was missing something, some fact. She was having trouble piecing things together. All she knew was that she never wanted to see Vodyanoy ever again.

"I'm going to get you help," he said to her seriously. Then he picked her back up and they were off again. She wasn't sure, but it felt almost like they were flying. The wind rushing past her face as she curled into the Batman's armored arms was the last sensation she felt before darkness swept over her.

* * *

The entire ER seemed to stand still when he walked into it, the injured teacher in his arms. When the police officers arrived seconds after him was when everyone stopped staring and began to talk in rapid, hushed voices, still casting furtive glances at his imposing figure. He ignored them all and made sure a doctor and several nurses started tending to her immediately while he turned back to the policemen.

"Don't leave her side," he ordered, then he took a last look at her prone form and swept out of the ER. He'd done some research on the doctors of Gotham Mercy and knew that one Anton Melcer had worked there for the last two years. The man was the son of Russian immigrants and had worked hard to put himself through medical school…or else his mob connections had paid for the privilege. Either way, he was in their pocket now. One look at his tax records indicated that much. Now, Batman made straight for his office to get some answers from him. He needed to take them out before they made another move on himself, or Molly, especially. Without Vodyanoy running the operation, he was certain the gangs in their payroll would also dissolve into in-fighting. He could take care of them easily after that, but he needed to act quickly.

There was a single desk light on in the man's office and he was bent low over some paperwork. He didn't notice the dark figure that entered, of course, until it was too late and Batman's hand was around his neck, pinning him down to the desk.

"What-" he spluttered and Batman squeezed a little harder. He was out for blood tonight, there was no question.

"Where is Vodyanoy?"

"I-"

"I know you work for him, Dr. Melcer, that you were the one who called in about the teacher. Where is he?"

"The Narrows!" Anton gasped out.

"Where?"

"That's all I know, I swear! When they need me they blindfold me and take me in a car-"

"Where!"

Anton began sweating profusely. "I- I don't know! Some kind of warehouse near the water, that's all I know!"

"Why did you call in the tip?"

"What that monster was doing to her- it wasn't right, she was already injured-"

"What did he do?"

"He made me leave the room once. I think he knows her from somewhere. He thought she knew you, I mean, the Batman, but I told him she was telling the truth-"

"Is that all?"

"I tried to help her, I did, I swear!"

"She's out of his grasp now and in your hospital. If you go near her while she's here, you'll pay dearly for it."

Anton yelped as the heavily gloved hand bit into his neck. "She's safe? Ow! Okay, I won't touch her, I swear!"

"Now, take a message to your boss for me. If he wants the Batman, tell him to do his own dirty work. If he ever comes after Molly Weil or any of the other educators and children of Gotham again, he'll regret it."

"What-" The glove bit into his skin again and he fell silent. He stayed prone against his desk until long after the hand left his neck and the whisper of air ran from his doorway. Anton was sure he'd soiled himself.

* * *

Not forty minutes after Batman had been interrogating the mob's doctor, Bruce Wayne was stepping out of his vehicle and marching up the front steps of Gotham Mercy Hospital. He made his way up the levels and paused only briefly at a nurse's station to inquire after Molly's room number, before he walked down the hall and was stopped by the policeman outside her room. He looked past the man's shoulder and saw another officer plus the commissioner inside her room.

"Look," he said to the officer blocking his way, "I don't think you understand who I am-"

"I know who you are, Mr. Wayne, and I'm very sorry, but Commissioner says no one gets past this door, then no one-"

"Roy!" Commissioner Gordon said hastily when he saw who it was. "Great job, great job- keep it up. But, er, Mr. Wayne is alright. Please, come in, Bruce," he said. The officer merely nodded, moved aside briefly for Bruce to go in the room, and resumed his post.

Bruce looked at Molly's pale form, seeming so much smaller than she already was. Like her own actions an hour before, his eyes didn't leave her face. How could they? After knowing what she'd been through already, in her short life. It should have been too much to bear and instead, here she was, alive despite all circumstances. "How is she?" he asked softly.

"She'll be alright, as long as infection doesn't set into that wound. They've managed to lower her fever and stabilize her already. Bullet was taken out hours ago- they've got a doctor working for them, no doubt. Anyway, looks like she'll survive."

"As soon as she's able, I'm moving her back to the penthouse," Bruce said.

"You're crazy," Gordon responded. "She needs to be in a hospital-"

"She needs to be protected. I received information earlier that this crime boss you're after has personal connections to Molly's family. That makes her a prime target, more of one than she was before. I can have state of the art medical equipment in my apartment in a matter of hours, a nurse on duty- but I won't leave her in here. No offense to your security," he added.

"Oh, none taken," Jim replied sarcastically. "Look, I told you once already-"

"This is my business!" Bruce exclaimed. He finally turned to face the commissioner. "I know you think this is all some charade-"

"I don't think that," Jim admitted gruffly. "But you have to see this from our point of view, Bruce."

"All I see is that this young woman needs my help," he said harshly. "I'm collecting her in a day. I'll send my own men for added security until she's back at the penthouse. Thank you for your help, commissioner," he added dismissively. He hated having to treat the man that way- imperiously, like he was a servant- but it was necessary right now. Not just for his cover, but for Molly's well being. "My penthouse is still the most secure place in Gotham and that's where she'll stay," he finished.

Gordon frowned and stalked out the door, leaving his officers posted outside. "Fine," he bit out. "But if anything else happens to her I will hold you personally responsible."

Bruce didn't watch him go, just kept his eyes trained on Molly's face. "So will I, Commissioner," he whispered. "I already do."

* * *

**AN: So, do I get a cookie for this chapter or not? I know, you're all wondering why she got away so easily. Well, Vodyanoy has his reasons. That's right, he knows all about it...**


	14. Chapter 14

**I do not own Batman; it all belongs to some other people. Except Molly. But you know, if someone wanted to use her as a kick ass female counterpart in the film franchise, I wouldn't deny them. (AhemChrisNolanAhem) :D**

* * *

Bruce was still holding vigil in her room when her eyes opened. He was speaking softly into his Bluetooth and he'd turned away in the hopes of not disturbing her, but that didn't fool her. He had his eyes on her every few seconds, his sight flickering from her face to the machines monitoring her vitals. Her eyes fluttered some while she adjusted to the new sensations: oxygen running under her nose, IV in her hand, crisp bed sheets against her arms and back. Dim lighting filtered into her open eyes and she winced against the sensation and the sounds of the softly beeping machines. Drew a shuddering breath. Her side no longer felt like it was on fire and the aches in her legs and shoulders had disappeared. She was probably heavily drugged, she registered and turned her head slightly. Bruce was off his earpiece and next to her in a flash. It would have been touching, if she wasn't suspicious of his motives. Then again, she doubted she was very sexy, chained to a hospital bed that way. He was probably there out of the kindness of his heart- or because he felt guilty for her kidnapping.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. "Do you need anything?"

She would have pulled her hand out of his if she'd had the strength. "No," she croaked. Then she heard what she sounded like and tried to shrug. "Water."

Bruce held a small cup to her lips and she sipped carefully. "I'll call the nurse."

"I'm fine," she managed to say that time. "I don't want her- him." She swallowed hard. "Tell me what's happened."

He debated for a moment, then pulled a chair over and sat down next to her. "There were a few leads. Some anonymous tips." When her shrewd grey eyes continued to see right through him he finally looked away. "I might know a few people."

"Batman rescued me," she said. "Do you know him? We were still talking and you said you had resources and then he was there." She stopped talking abruptly and took several more deep breaths. Bruce narrowed his eyes.

"Does it matter if I know him? Everyone in the city knows him."

"It matters," she replied, eyes still closed, still taking those deep, shuddering breaths. "He thinks I know him."

"Who?"

"That monster," she whispered. "He thinks I know him. I'm a target because of it- now they'll know he's singled me out twice. They'll be coming for me again. Looking for him. It doesn't matter if you know him or not, I guess- but your being near me makes you a target, too. I won't allow you to put yourself in that kind of danger, Bruce."

It was the most she'd said so far and Bruce could hear the strain in her voice because of it. If only she knew. It was touching though, that she was so concerned for him. Probably no more concerned than she would be for any of her students, but it counted for something.

"Don't be ridiculous," he soothed. "I'm not going anywhere. Once you're more awake and the doctor's checked you out, I'm taking you back to the penthouse. You'll be safe there. You're off work for at least a week. That should be enough time for them to take out this Russian character."

Molly actually began to struggle at his words. "No- you can't take me back there, not if I don't want to go- Bruce, you have no idea what this man is like! I won't let you put yourself in danger-"

"Molly," he said, shushing her with soothing words and motions, brushing her short, feathery locks back from her forehead. "Molly, I'm fine. I'll be okay, trust me. I'm not as easy to take out as you imagine."

Molly stopped her struggles and turned her eyes on him. "And this man isn't as harmless as he appears to be. If I escaped there's a reason for it. He's probably having me followed."

"Impossible," Bruce said. "The security we have on you and this hospital is insurmountable. If someone were following you, we'd know."

"Waiting for the Batman to show up again, likely," she went on in a softer voice, then rolled her eyes to him again. "But I suppose you don't care. I suppose you think the Batman can take care of himself as well."

Bruce didn't respond, just returned her hard stare and she finally looked away.

"Fine. I can see you're not going to let me out of this…wait, what about my students? What about the schools? He knows he can get to me through my kids. Knows I would do anything for them-" She stopped abruptly as she remembered the reason she'd been kidnapped in the first place. "Oh, Bruce, Tony- his mother must be worried sick; he wasn't anywhere in the warehouse- do you know…" her voice trailed off as her eyes searched his face. "He didn't make it," she said in a flat voice.

Bruce took her hand again and she didn't pull away this time. "I'm sorry, Molly. Maybe I should wait to tell you-"

She gripped his hand in return. "I need to know," she said. "Please, just..."

Bruce sighed and looked away briefly. "The other members who perpetrated the kidnapping…shot him with his own weapon. He didn't live through that night. I'm so sorry."

Molly turned her face away as the tears started. She didn't say another word and Bruce finally released her hand to call the doctor in. She was silent through her check up, giving only mute nods or shakes of her head; and when the nurse helped bundle her into the wheelchair to have her taken back to the penthouse, she didn't protest.

* * *

"Alfred," Bruce murmured a few hours later, after looking in on Molly again. "I have to go out again tonight."

"Sir, don't you think you ought to stay here for a day or two, until she's feeling better? What do I say if she wakes up and asks for you?"

"She won't ask for me. She hasn't said a word since the hospital, since she found out…since I told her about Tony."

Alfred gave Bruce a long, level look. "Master Bruce," he said gently, "I doubt Miss Molly blames you for his death in any way. The recent events are tragic and no one's fault but those who perpetrated them. I suspect," he continued, "that if you are not here when she wakes up that your absence would only serve to alarm her."

Bruce sighed. "How am I going to track down that bastard if I'm here all night?"

Alfred patted him gently on the back. "I believe, Master Bruce, that there are some things more important than catching the bad guy just at this moment."

Bruce turned his head and gazed at his old friend with slightly damp brown eyes. "I almost lost her, Alfred. If she hadn't escaped when she did- and I know that's probably a ploy, that she's right. Vodyanoy wouldn't have let her go if he didn't have a reason- but thank God he did. His reasons don't matter right now, not when she-" he stopped talking abruptly and a strange look came over him. "I'm sorry, Alfred. You're right. I…I'll stay."

Alfred wisely didn't say another word. He'd already won one battle and it would do for now. He went to put on a pot of coffee. They would both be keeping vigil the next few days, he suspected.

* * *

Alfred was right; when Molly woke up in pain during the night, the first name she called was Bruce's. Well. That's what Alfred told him, anyway, after he'd already given her the medication. What she'd really said was, "Alfred? Where am I- where's my grandmother? Where's Bruce- has that man…" Then she'd ended with a groan and tried to pull the oxygen away from her face. But Bruce didn't need to know any of that.

Besides, seeing the tender look on his employer's face as he'd taken a seat next to the bed was more reward than he'd had in a long time. Bruce hadn't left the chair since then, dozing lightly, keeping one hand on hers at all times. He'd called Alfred in around six in the morning to tell the man to call his office and cancel all his appointments for the next two days. Lucius Fox could run things better than him, anyway.

Finally, after a fitful night and morning, Molly awoke fully around noon. She blinked slowly, taking in the sun streaming through her blinds and the feel of Egyptian cotton sheets. Thread count 800. Nothing less for Bruce Wayne. Nothing less for the faux girlfriend who'd been kidnapped, shot and interrogated under his watch. She stretched carefully, not moving position, really…just casually extending her arms and legs further. Then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes again before looking to Bruce once more.

Nope, still there. So it hadn't been a dream, waking up in the middle of the night, asking for him, needing to know he was safe. Taking pain meds. She would have rolled her eyes, but she didn't trust the drugs to protect her entirely from the aching she'd had to endure only a day ago.

What was wrong with her? Well, she was probably dealing with post-traumatic stress, or something along those lines. And Bruce was a rich, powerful, good looking man. And they shared chemistry, even if she did want to wipe the floor with his smug face most of the time. That was part of his charm, she supposed. But he did seem to care about her, even if things were moving quickly. Times of high stress often hurried along any underlying feelings. And the things she'd felt only a week ago, at the charity ball, had been real. She hadn't imagined the tingling along her skin everywhere his fingers had brushed her. Or the intoxicating way he'd held her as they'd danced.

Of course, he was magnetic to nearly every woman he met, so that attraction was nothing new. The real question was, when he'd kissed her and she'd returned the kisses, had he been playing her? Evidence pointed to the contrary. The way he was sitting at her bedside now, the way he'd been at her bedside all night at the hospital- how he'd called in a personal favor with the Batman for her sake. Because it must have been a personal favor. The man had gotten to her so quickly, just after she'd been talking to Bruce. He had to know the Batman. There was no other way, short of them being the same person- which was ridiculous. She knew Bruce was hiding some major baggage from her, but some things were too ludicrous to even consider.

She squeezed the hand that held hers gently and was rewarded by Bruce jerking awake and looking over at her with a sleepy smile.

"Hey there," he murmured. "You awake now?"

"Yeah. You're not, though. Were you here all night? You should go lie down."

"I'm used to being up all night," he replied, then stood. "What can I get you? Do you need some water? Medicine?"

"Food," she admitted. "And I'd like to talk to my grandmother. Is she okay?"

"She's still in her home, fighting. I just saw her the day before- I could bring her here, if you're worried-"

"No, she wouldn't come. But if I could talk to her, on the phone, at least-"

"That I can do," he said. "I'll bring an extension in here. Alfred will bring in a tray for you, too. I'll be right back." He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then left.

He looked tired, haggard, to her eyes, but she didn't say anything. The time for jibes and sarcasm between them had passed. They were on the same team and all he wanted to do was help her. He'd proven that. Whether it was for ulterior motives or not no longer mattered. She'd seen the monster who'd ruined her childhood and her mother's life and he was now ruining the lives of children under her care. Whatever Bruce was offering her to save the schools and her kids, she would take it. She had a price after all, and it was doing whatever it took to get that man out of the equation; and put him behind bars for a long, long time. Until he was dead.

Or he could just die first. She wasn't really feeling very picky or magnanimous at the moment…all she knew was that a boy, the little man of his family, protector of his mother and sister, was dead for no reason at all. Because he'd believed the promises of a killer and child molester, who was making money off of fear and vice. The monster had to be fought and stopped, whatever the cost to her own soul. She'd take the bastard down herself, given the chance. And she wasn't afraid to realize that she meant it.

She took a few deep breaths and tried to smile as Bruce walked back in, phone in hand, and hooked it up for her. He sat on the edge of her bed and placed it beside her.

"Need anything else? Alfred has some food whenever you're finished."

She met his brown eyes and glanced away after only a second of contact. He caught the flicker and uncertainty and placed a hand on her blanketed legs.

"Hey- don't be afraid to talk to me. About anything."

She caught the tone of his voice and looked at him more closely. "You know. You talked to Gran." Her lips pressed together and he smiled tightly.

"I'm sorry for breaking into your personal life that way, but we needed to find out everything we could about this mob. If we hadn't spoken with her we might not have made the connection as soon."

"And what does knowing all that actually do for you?" she asked. "He wasn't after me because of that. It's all about the Batman for him."

"Not anymore, it's not. And that is important. Commissioner Gordon has everyone he can spare working this case. It's going to be the biggest bust they've had in years- the biggest crime ring. The infiltration of the schools via the gangs is going to end with this man, Molly. When he's taken down-"

"And if he isn't? It'll only make things worse for the schools. He's probably retaliating against the kids in his gangs already. Bruce, I can't sit here and listen to-"

"Nothing is happening, Molly, I promise. I can bring you a television if you don't believe me- a radio, your laptop- whatever. He's laying low, after losing you. Listen, call your grandmother. Talk to her. She's been worried sick. Your sister is safe, your kids are safe. The trustees for the foundation are actually meeting today to decide how to address the immediate issue of these mob-related gangs. They think swift, deciding action now will not only get us off to a good start publicly, but may also help us bring in these lowlifes."

"Are you going?" Molly suddenly asked. "Will you have your phone-" she broke off as soon as she'd begun and felt her face flushing. Her heart was racing and she tried desperately to slow her breathing.

Bruce's face changed and he took her by the shoulders gently before he slowly leaned forward and hugged her to him. He didn't want to hurt her, but the woman clearly needed comforting. Comforting was good. It was something he was capable of, even when he probably needed it more.

"I'm not going anywhere, Molly. It's a teleconference. I'm staying right here for the next few days. Christ, look at what happened the last time I left. You think I'm going to leave you here by yourself?"

"I wouldn't be by myself," she mumbled into his shoulder, though her heart rate slowed considerably the longer he held her. "I'd have Alfred and Lars."

Bruce smiled into her hair. "Lars?"

"Oh, alright. Ashley."

"Look, I'll just be with Alfred, down the hall in the kitchen. Call if you need something. Now call Madge. She needs to hear from you." He kissed her cheek softly this time, patted her leg and stood up. Then he left again.

Molly watched the doorway thoughtfully for a moment or two, then picked up the phone and dialed. She was going to have to be in on that board meeting. And she was also going to have to figure out how to get back into his arms. Incredibly, it was the first place she'd felt safe in three days. Not unlike having the Batman hold her, in fact.

* * *

**AN: Cookie? How was this chapter? We'll move on to more action soon, promise.**


	15. Chapter 15

**I do not own Batman at all. Molly is my original character, however. I make no money off this fic.**

**AN: Sorry it's been so long, people. I'm close to finishing this now, I think, but it may still take a little bit. Thanks for your patience and continued readership. :) **

* * *

When Molly woke up again, it was late afternoon. She tried to remember what had happened earlier in the day with little success. Breakfast, Bruce, Alfred, calling her grandmother…Bruce again, reading to her. Some sort of teleconference happened. And then she'd passed out again, too exhausted to stay awake much longer. Or too drugged. One of those. Either way, the memory of Bruce being so kind, tenderly helping her in and out of bed, bringing her food and tea, the paper, her books…they were the first thing on her mind when she woke to the setting sun streaming through her window.

She was almost starting to like the penthouse apartment. She certainly didn't get sun like that in her own walk-up.

And then the haze of drugs and sleep began to clear and she could hear voices. The low murmurs reminded her violently of her kidnapping days ago and she jolted upright, only to fall back on the pillows again as a wave of dizziness swept over her. A different set of memories, of waking in a hospital bed, of hearing her student being shot to death, of being terrorized by that awful man filled her head and she squeezed her eyes shut. Bringing her hands to her face she pressed her fists against her eyes, wishing she could forget all those horrors. Why her? Why now? Just a week ago her life had been relatively normal and now…she was in protective custody; pretending to be dating a man she might actually _want _to date; survivor of a brutal kidnapping and attempted murder; and the only witness against a man who was single-handedly running the gangwar in Gotham's schools. Her life was never going to be the same.

Well, she'd known that already. The minute she'd seen her coworker gunned down. No, actually, the minute she'd seen Bruce Wayne at his insufferable charity ball. She'd known when he'd looked at her like she was his prey that a new age was coming.

She laughed a little hysterically and the laughter quickly turned to tears as the stress of the last several days hit her in full force. The murmur of voices from outside subsided and a second later there was a light knock on her door, then it swung open a crack.

"Molly?" Bruce asked. The minute he saw her tears, he was inside and on the bed, holding her close.

"I can't take this," she whispered against his shoulder. "Why is any of this happening?"

"Molly, we talked about this earlier-"

"I don't care," she protested weakly. "I can't take it. I can't be here. I'm putting all of you in danger, even my kids-" She choked on another sob and Bruce tenderly stroked her hair.

"No you're not. Shh. It's alright. It will be alright. I have you. Let me get you help."

She froze, then exhaled shakily. "The Batman-"

It was his turn to freeze. He pulled away and raised a brow. "Would you feel safer with him around?"

She shook her head and he sighed and gathered her to him again. "What's wrong, Molly? You were alright earlier."

"I don't know- I'm sorry," she breathed. She felt her heart slowing as he held her, his strong arms surrounding her. "I just woke up and was disoriented…and I heard you out there. It reminded me of-"

She broke off and turned her head, burying her face against his chest. He dug his fingers into her short locks gently and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I should have been here."

"No," she hiccupped. "I'm just a mess. After nearly twenty years I never expected to see him again. Ever. It's bound to mess me up a little." She gave a small, sad laugh and Bruce felt his heart contract painfully.

"We're going to get him. He won't ever see the light of day again, I swear to you."

"I know. I'd kill him myself if I had to," she responded softly and Bruce froze again. Something in him suddenly understood this woman, recognized her and marked her as his own. Because for all his high minded ideals, he knew that given the chance to murder the son of a bitch and leave him to the justice system…he would tear him to pieces first, hands down.

He thought that somehow, Rachel would probably understand.

* * *

"You have tracked her, correct?"

"Yes, Vodyanoy."

"What I mean is, you have the right apartment where she is located."

"Yes, I just said-"

The older, larger man rounded on his minion with surprising speed and before he knew it, the young man found himself two feet in the air, one giant hand around his throat, crushing his windpipe.

"I only ask twice, you moronic excuse for a mobster, because the Batman, he has not been anywhere near this penthouse. And since I think- no, I know- that the woman is of interest to him, it makes no sense that he would not be there to protect her." He finally let go of the other man, who crumpled to the floor, clutching at his throat and gasping for air. "Right now we could walk right into that building and take her, at any hour of any day and no one could stop us. The security of a man like Bruce Wayne presents no challenge to me. And yet the Batman does not come. Why?"

He whirled about and pointed a finger at the rest of the men.

"Tell me that!" he bellowed. "Why?"

"Perhaps he knows you are watching, that it is a trap," suggested one man. Vodyanoy sneered at him, but the expression faded as one of thought descended on his face.

"Perhaps…but how do we tell?"

"Go in after her."

Almost immediately a dozen voices were raised in protest. It was too soon, it was too foolish, too dangerous…Vodyanoy silenced them all with a wave of his hand.

"I do not disagree. It is too soon. We will let them sit happily, safely for another night. And when they least expect it, we will come. And though none of you have said it, I have thought it: either the Batman will arrive to save her, _or he is already there_."

* * *

Molly scratched at the spot on her arm again. It had been itching madly since a few hours ago. She assumed something had bitten her while she'd been crawling around in the Narrows, looking for escape. But if it was a bite, it was a strange one. There didn't seem to be a mark on her- just a small, bright red pin prick. It was _very _strange. She rather hoped it wasn't an early symptom of meningitis. Lord knew she'd ingested enough bacteria during her ordeal that it was possible. There was a motion out of the corner of her eye. She looked up from her own preoccupation to realize that Bruce was staring at her with a funny look on his face.

"Are you ok?" he asked quietly, leaning away from the microphone. They were in the middle of another video conference with a board member for the new foundation.

She nodded quickly, curling her hand about her arm in an effort to keep from scratching again.

"As I was saying, these figures look very promising," the man on screen was saying. "I- Mr. Wayne? Are you there-"

"I am. Listening to every word. Have you run this by Lucius? He should probably know. We're keeping the bank accounts and paper trails separate, true, but it's still going to have the Wayne name on it."

"Since you brought it up, Mr. Wayne, I should also point out that the Foundation already has its fingers in education. We were unsure of how to broach the subject, since you seem to have taken a rather personal side in the matter-"

At that, Molly sat up and decided she'd better say a few things.

"That may be true about the Wayne Foundation, but they're all still private. Just because tuition isn't being charged doesn't mean everyone is getting the same education. The number of children who are rejected every year is staggering. There aren't enough of those schools to swallow all the children who need a good education in this city. So where do the kids go who aren't accepted? Public. It's time the Wayne Foundation and its board woke up to the fact that for all the good they do, hundreds are still lost in the cracks every year. Cracks myself and my fellow educators are left trying to plug with an underemployed, underfinanced public education system. So, unless you plan on opening up enough free schools to negate the need for a public system, I suggest you help us out here. We're the only ones you haven't been helping, aside from the odd fundraiser or two. Wouldn't some fresh, idealistic journalist love to get her teeth into that story? The ignored public system while the children of the rich-"

"That's hardly news," the man responded, huffing some. Bruce raised a brow at him and he realized how bad that had sounded. He tried to backpedal, but Bruce waved a hand.

"Never mind. Just contact Lucius with those figures. And thank you for your time this evening."

The other man sighed and then the screen went blank. Bruce looked over at Molly, who had her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.

"Are you always like this in these situations?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Bruce turned and put out his hands, leaning towards her. The glare on her face softened and she finally relented and placed her hands in his.

"You know what I mean. Diplomacy. Tact. Politics."

"You mean game playing and no, I don't follow the rules," she replied. "The people who follow the rules rarely get anything done, or effect real change." She put on her teacher face and straightened up a bit. "'Well-behaved women-'"

"'Rarely make history.' Yes, I know that," Bruce said. He squeezed her hands gently and smiled at her. "Speaking of rare, how do you like your steak?"

Molly laughed and pulled her hands away. "I don't, but thank you." She suddenly looked back up at him, her eyes wary. "We're just staying here for dinner again?"

Another day had passed in a partially drug-induced and sleep-ridden haze. And even though her eyes were brighter than they'd been, Bruce was still loathe to speed up her recovery any.

"Of course. You still have recovering to do. By the way, do you need something for that itch?"

"Yes- no. I have no idea. It looks like maybe something bit me. Could have been anything, in the Na-" She broke off and looked away helplessly, then shrugged. "Sure. I'll ask Alfred."

"I'll ask him," Bruce replied, raising a brow and pushing her back into her seat. "Stay put. Check your email, grade some homework. I'll be right back."

Molly watched him walk away. The expanse of his broad shoulders beneath his carefully tailored shirt was comforting…and attractive. She felt that tug in her stomach, the one that didn't have anything to do with being ill, and a funny smile crept across her face. If she wasn't careful, she was already half way to in love with him. The smile fell away and she looked back at the computer screen, then straightened herself up again as best she could, tugged the keyboard over, and began typing.

* * *

Bruce paused at the front of the hall and looked back at Molly. She was sitting in front of the monitor, her back straight and chin held high. She was still pale, though, and the loose fitting top to make room for the bandage on her side belied her projected image of good health. His jaw twitched as he watched her- call it concern, call it affection- it might even be love. But at this point he was beyond worried for her. The doctor had said she needed to just relax, rest and recover for a few days- a few weeks, more like- but he knew that wasn't going to happen. She was like him: unable to relax in the face of unresolved danger. Relaxation only made you lose your focus, which was stupid when there were still people trying to kill you.

Batman hadn't stayed alive by being stupid. He'd done it through hard work and long nights and never by avoiding the issue at hand. Which was probably partly why Bruce felt like he might jump out of his skin if he had to wait around the penthouse much longer. They'd been getting work done, certainly, and had made some excellent progress with the new foundation for Gotham's public schools…but there was something going on. Bruce could feel it- an undercurrent in the situation that wasn't hitting him right and it made him nervous. Gordon's men had the information on the Narrows, yet they hadn't made a move the whole day- not that he blamed them. The Batman was normally the one to go in and clear things out partially before sending in the squads. But Bruce was holed up at the penthouse, taking care of an invalid Molly. Not that she'd accept her status, but the truth was she was still too weak to really go anywhere. It would take at least another full day's rest before he could move her. And he did plan on moving her.

Meanwhile, he felt certain that the mob boss was making waves quietly below ground, smoking them out somehow. If only he could put his finger on it…oh, he suspected they knew exactly where Molly was and were having the penthouse watched, somehow. It was the why of it that concerned him more than anything. Were they after Molly again, or was she right and she was just a ploy to draw out Batman?

A voice at his shoulder spooked him and he glanced at Alfred, who had his brows raised.

"I haven't taken you unawares in quite sometime, Master Bruce."

"I'm off my game."

"So I noticed. While I am pleased with the interest you've taken in Miss Molly, being off your game won't help her any."

"I know that." Bruce turned and looked at his butler and oldest friend and compatriot. "What do you suggest?"

Alfred watched Molly a moment longer and then glanced at Bruce. His face was serious, the kind of serious it had been the day of his parents' funeral. The day Rachel had died.

"If I were you, Master Bruce," Alfred said softly, "I would get her out of this city as quickly as possible."

Bruce nodded and looked away, back at Molly. "That's what I intend to do." He sighed. "First thing tomorrow, then."


	16. Chapter 16

**I do not own Batman or make money off this fic. All rights belong to, um, DC comics and, uh, probs Chris Nolan or something like that. Molly is my original character, however. **

**AN: So this is our first lemon. Perhaps a bit unexpected, but oh well. Don't like it, don't read it. It's not particularly lemony, anyway. More action (as in adventure) next chapter. **

* * *

Dinner was quiet, but tense. Molly spent the entire time thinking of both ways to disembowel Vodyanoy and wondering whether Bruce was mad at her about something. He kept watching her with those serious, brown eyes of his and it made her want to do things to wipe the look off his face. Like kiss him, or run her fingers through his hair.

Which was really just a visceral response from her subconscious to all the danger she'd been in. Right?

Right. Just like the kisses they'd shared the night he'd first brought her here.

"Molly?"

She jerked out her thoughts to see him watching her with those dark pools again.

"Sorry."

"I asked you the same question three times," Bruce responded, smiling some. "Are you alright?"

"Fine. Just…tired."

But her cheeks were flushed with dirty thoughts. She felt ashamed, somehow. This city, her sister and grandmother, her kids…they were all in danger and she wanted to, well. She shook her head some.

"What were you asking, Bruce?"

He looked at her as if he didn't believe her, but went ahead and pretended like they both didn't know exactly what was the matter with her.

"If that itch had gone away."

"Oh." She looked down at her arm and then back up at him. She'd rubbed the spot nearly raw when he hadn't been looking, but he didn't need to know that. "Sort of, I guess it did."

Again, that look of disbelief. She stared back at him and he got up and walked over to her seat, knelt in front of it. She rolled her eyes and looked away, but he reached up and caught her face between his hands. Just the touch of his rough fingertips against her cheeks was enough to bring the heat back into her stomach. She fought the urge to squirm uncomfortably.

"Molly," Bruce said, "there don't need to be any lies between us. Not when you're in my care."

She squirmed anyway, put her hands over his and removed them gently.

"I'm fine. Like I said, I'm just feeling tired. Probably this cocktail you have me on."

He remained in front of her, twined his hands around hers as they rested in her lap.

"Doctor's orders, not mine."

"Like I don't know you're monitoring every prescription and diagnosis they gave me."

He smiled a little. "I am?"

"Of course you are."

"If I am, it's for a good reason." He brought one of her hands to his lips, kissed it softly, sweetly. Turned it over and kissed the palm. Her breath caught in her throat.

"Oh? And what reason is that, Doctor Wayne?" Her voice sounded strange, to her ears.

Bruce's lips froze against her hand and she wondered if he'd suddenly come to his senses. But a second later he was standing up and tugging her up to him, cradling her in his arms without any pain to her or any effort for him.

"Bruce?" she gasped.

"Doctor Wayne was my father," he said hoarsely.

"Oh, Bruce, I'm sorry-"

"Don't be," he responded quickly, while heading towards her room with her tucked safely against his chest.

She looked up at him and he smiled softly, eyes glittering with desire.

"I'm not my father," he whispered as he reached the doorway of her room.

"No, you're not," she replied quietly, then slipped her arms around his neck and gave in to the feelings she'd been having all night.

* * *

Bruce closed the door behind them without bothering to turn on the lights, a fact Molly was grateful for. She had no desire to hear the same thing that every other man always says during sex when the lights are on. "You're beautiful," and, "You're breathtaking," would only be lies at this point. She knew she wasn't exactly looking her best at the moment. But in the dark, all cats are grey, and she intended to make that very clear to this rich boy.

He laid her on the bed gently and stripped off his own clothes without preamble before stretching out beside her. She'd already begun slipping off the simple lounge clothes she was wearing, letting him know that she wanted this, too. He stayed her motions and brought one of her hands to his lips again.

There went her breath again, too.

"Bruce-"

He shushed her, covered her lips with his. "Let me," he murmured. "Please."

In the darkness she could still feel his eyes boring holes right into her and she flushed hotly, nodded. Her voice was hardly anything when she spoke.

"Okay."

Then his hands were at her shoulders, sliding the fabric away. He bent to kiss the skin he'd exposed, felt her gasp at every touch. He made his way back up her neck to her lips. She put her arms around him again and they lay there, kissing sweetly for she didn't know how long. The kisses worked her into a fever slowly, making her feel safe and warm, making her want to stay in his arms forever, if he could always make her feel this way.

He pressed his lips to hers harder and slid one hand along her head, angling it as he began exploring her mouth with his tongue. She moaned and her hands crept along his chest to his shoulders, his back in an effort to both press him closer and push him away His kiss was driving her crazy, suddenly and she didn't know what she wanted more. Release, or for it to never end.

He sensed her struggle and lifted himself over her, took her hands and placed them on his chest. They were both breathing hard and he smiled.

"Are you-"

"If you ask me if I'm alright, I'll scream," she promised quietly. His chest was hard and hot beneath her hands and she could feel the muscles and skin move with every breath he took. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she could just make him out, leaning over her, hair in his face. She lifted a hand and brushed it back, smoothed it out with a suddenly tender touch.

"I know this isn't making love," she began and he tilted his head, brought her hand down from his hair, kissed it.

"It could be," he breathed and this time when he kissed her, he didn't stop and she didn't ask him to. Her hands pressed against his chest and as he covered her body with his, she slid them around him, holding him to her. She hadn't felt these things in a very long time- not because there hadn't been interested parties, no. Mainly because she hadn't wanted to feel these things. People only ever got hurt when love and sex were involved and she had a life. Her kids, her work, they were more important than personal satisfaction.

But being in Bruce Wayne's arms erased every certainty she'd had about her own immunity to those desires. His hands slid along her sides, leaving scorch marks in their wake, lighting every nerve ending on fire. When he cupped her breasts and placed slow, sensual kisses there she gasped with pleasure. And his fingers at her center, spreading her gently, lazily…it was nearly too much. She was afraid she would start crying if he didn't get on with it and her mouth found his earlobe and she latched on in protest. His hands stilled and it was his breath that caught this time. She took the opportunity to dance her fingers down to him. They closed about his member and she ran her hand up and down him as she bit down lightly on his ear. Suddenly his mouth was over hers again and he had her wrists caught in one hand, was holding them hostage while his other hand brought her to the edge.

She didn't have to tell him twice. He was inside her a moment later, moving slowly, tenderly. This time she didn't bother to stop the tears that slipped from her eyes as her lashes fluttered with some emotion she'd buried a long time ago. He kissed them away without comment, just his lips soft against her cheeks as he sent her over the edge with his gentle pressure. He was hot and hard against her and she didn't need anything but the knowledge that he was driving her into darkness to send her spiraling into her climax. She cried out silently, mouth open, head back and he caught her lips with his, covered her mouth and held her tightly. He went after her a second later, but continued to drive in and out of her slowly, bringing them both down from their shuddering highs.

She freed her hands from his grasp and put her arms around him, eager to hold onto him, to hold onto something. He buried his face in her neck once, placing one more kiss against her heated skin before he pulled out. There was a brief moment of cleaning up, and then he was back at her side, arms around her again.

"You wore a condom," she murmured sleepily against his chest, voice disbelieving.

"I did."

"I didn't think you were that much of a gentleman," she said and layered a few weak kisses over his chest. His mouth found hers again and they didn't speak for several minutes. Only when she felt herself drifting off into a sated sleep did she hear his voice again.

"I'm not," he muttered and held her closer. "I never will be. Being a gentleman is the last of my concerns."

"And what's the first?" she managed to ask.

He didn't answer her, just kissed her brow. She was asleep a moment later.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Batman franchise- but I wish to hell some talented artist wanted to turn this baby into a comic. Molly is all mine, suckaaaaahs! (Oh, and no profit is being made.)**

**AN: At long last, chapter 17. More action is on the way in the next chapters. I hope you enjoy this puppy after its long absence! Thanks so much for your patience. :)**

**

* * *

**Bruce lay next to Molly, listening as her breathing evened into sleep, thinking about how beautiful she was, and how much he shouldn't have slept with her tonight.

Thinking about how he was in love with her.

It hardly seemed possible, but he knew his heart. After all this time, after years of grief and regret, it was beating again, for someone other than Rachel. In barely three weeks she'd awakened something in him that he'd thought he'd never see again. Hope. Alfred had been right. But it was still too early to say anything- he couldn't spook her, and he couldn't endanger her. Which was why he shouldn't have slept with her this soon. Getting emotionally involved would only put her in more danger.

Except it was technically too late for that.

She sighed and rolled onto her good side, tucking her face against his shoulder. He smiled down at her and pulled her close. It was no use regretting it now, after it had happened. He'd just have to hold on to her and hope it didn't change things too much. Didn't change how she felt about him, or the dynamics of their fledgling relationship. And even though he really hoped it wouldn't change the amount of danger she was in, he knew better. Loving Bruce Wayne meant loving the Batman, too, and that always came with a price. He only hoped he could deal with the first threat before the next came along…because there would always be another threat.

He held her to him and looked down at her face, which was peaceful for now. There was no point in rocking the boat anymore than he already had, he supposed. Perhaps for the night he could rest beside her…pretend there was nothing to worry about, nothing to keep him up all night. Leaning down, he kissed her forehead and then laid his own head back on the pillows and closed his eyes.

Tomorrow he would get her out of the city, to his estate. Once she was safely ensconced there, then they could consider what it was they were doing. Then he wouldn't have to worry about her quite as much. He let out a soft breath and turned towards her, ready to follow her into sleep.

It didn't come. His sensitive hearing was alert in one second and in the next the alarm in the penthouse went off, sending out a high-pitched keen that steadily grew in volume. He was on his feet in the ensuing moment, but it was too late and the thugs spilled down the hallway and into the bedroom. He caught the first and tossed him against the nearest wall, heard the satisfying thud of his head hitting the floor. Another followed the first, but while he dealt with him a third slipped past and was at the bed in a flash. Bruce only had time to hear Molly cry out before there was a gun under his chin and another at his back.

All the lights came on and Bruce could hear the sound of Alfred struggling elsewhere in the apartment. He grit his teeth and started to think hard. What could he do? What did the men want? Molly? The Batman? They wouldn't have the latter without him risking the former and he couldn't do that. The second he disappeared to suit up they would either kill her or take her hostage again- and this time she wouldn't come back. The guns pressed harder against him and he heard Molly whimper.

"What's-" she began, only to receive a backhand to her mouth.

"You will speak when we want you to speak," came a raspy voice. Bruce tried to twist about and the guns clicked menacingly.

"Do not move, Mr. Wayne. Not if you value your life."

"I don't give a flying fuck about my life," he bit out and the men laughed, then began to drag both of them from the room.

"Leave her alone!" Bruce yelled as he heard Molly's cries of pain, heard the thud of her weak limbs against the floor as she was dragged. His blood rushed through his ears as his heart rate increased, fueled by a rage that he would never truly be free of. He'd known it his whole life, after all. It was what had kept him going for a long time…and now that Molly was becoming the thing that kept him going, what did that mean?

It didn't mean he was losing his reasons, his focus. It merely meant a restructuring of that rage. A refocusing on what was important to him. He would do anything for Molly. _Anything_. Including taking the beating the thugs seemed intent on giving him with every struggle, every word of protest from his mouth. But with every rough tug of rope over his wrists, every backhand to his face, every glimpse of the similar abuse being heaped on Molly, he took the rage it created and stored it away. He would need it later…soon.

If he didn't make a move soon they would both be dead. But he had to wait for the perfect moment. The absolute perfect…moment…his vision blurred and he tasted blood in his mouth, but he didn't feel the pain from the blow. That was probably a bad sign. He screamed for Molly again and heard only a scared whimper.

"Molly! Don't you touch her, you bastards- Molly!"

Another backhand to his face and his shout ended in a grunt. He tried to gather himself, to stay alert, but it was getting harder. His heart raced in fear and anger.

From her position in front of him, being dragged towards the front of the apartment, Molly could just twist her head enough to look over her shoulder at him. She couldn't make a sound, not because she was too frightened, but because the pain their rough treatment of her had reawakened was too much. She had to grit her teeth to keep from crying out and as it was tears were streaming down her face. She caught a glimpse of Alfred somewhere behind Bruce, their figures lit up by moonlight streaming through the wide bay of windows. There were at least half a dozen thugs in the space with them, three covering her and three covering Bruce. Alfred, she assumed, had already been dealt with to their satisfaction. That, or they didn't think he was a threat. Of course, the way his mostly still form kept mysteriously moving across the floor, she thought the thugs were probably very stupid. She decided to risk talking.

"What are you- doing?" she hissed brokenly and the men ignored her. She let herself fall into a dead weight, making sure she was more difficult to move, not helping them at all. One of the men grunted and she would've smiled triumphantly if she'd had any energy to spare. She looked small, yes, but she was all- or mostly- packed muscle. She was heavier than she looked and she was going to use that to her advantage, damn it.

"You're twice as big as her, Leon," one of the men said. "Stop complaining! We have to have her ready."

"Ready for what?" she managed to ask again. "What do you want? What good can I possibly be? I don't know-"

She got a hand across her face for her efforts and felt her head whip back from the force. If I'm not careful, she thought, they'll snap my neck.

She grit her teeth and spoke again.

"What do you _want_-"

"Shut her up, now," one of the men covering Bruce growled from across the room. Tape was being pressed over her mouth a moment later and struggled against it, but it was too late. Chest heaving, she felt her captors accidentally groping her- or perhaps they weren't bothering to make it appear accidental, it was hard to tell- as they pushed her into a chair.

No, not this again, she thought desperately even as they wound the rope about her shoulders. She felt them bind her ankles to the legs of the chair and a small bubble of panic crept into her breast. _He_ was coming. She knew it. And he wanted her this way, accessible and helpless and she was seven years old again and terrified. Eight years old and tortured. Nine and silent.

Ten and resigned.

Eleven…and resolved.

She was a victim. She had been a victim, would always be a victim. Would always have suffered when she was just a child who could do nothing to protect herself. The difference was…she was an adult now and when she was made to be a victim this time, she could defend herself. She _would_ defend herself. She was no longer only a victim. The years had made her a survivor too.

Lifting her head, she felt her tears dry upon her cheeks and smiled beneath the tape over her mouth. She would survive this and none of her captors would. Because whether this was a trap or not, whether the Batman showed up or not, this time they'd picked the wrong woman, the wrong man, and the wrong penthouse.

And they really, really should have made sure the butler was dead, she thought as she watched Alfred's shadow from the corner of her eye, saw how he reached up the wall…the wall where she'd cornered Bruce only a few nights ago, when he'd behaved so suspiciously. Something was rotten in the state of Gotham, but she wasn't about to care or point it out to the thugs. If Bruce Wayne had some sort of connection to the Batman and it would insure their safety now, she wouldn't say a word. At least, not until she was out of reach of the gunfire again. Then there was no telling what would happen.

The thug inspecting her ropes leaned over her and gave her a sharp shake.

"Is the princess paying attention? Huh? Enjoying your last moment of peace?"

She glared at him and he laughed in her face. She jerked her face away from his foul breath and he only shoved himself closer at her, saying lewd things with his eyes and vile words with his lips. She felt bile rise in her throat and shook her head again, attempting to escape the barrage.

"Molly!" she heard Bruce shout again, his voice hoarse with anxiety. She waited for the sound of fist to flesh, or worse, a gunshot, but none came and she twisted about some more as the man before her stilled and suddenly began cursing. There was the quiet sound of a door sliding open, followed swiftly by the thuds of bodies to the floor and finally the men surrounding her began firing wildly.

The silence had been broken in seconds- less than- and there was action all around her. Glass broke, more bodies hit the floor and she could hear the men scrabbling about in the debris. The acrid taste of gun smoke and electricity filled her nostrils and she gagged harder. Something grazed her shoulder- another bullet, she thought- and she cried out as best she could before she felt her chair knocked to the floor. She would have been grateful for the reprieve, but she knew that the thugs moving her out of the gunfire was only a sign that she was wanted alive for something far worse than being held captive in a penthouse.

"Miss Molly!" she heard Alfred hiss from across the floor and she craned her neck, unable to take part, unable to be of any help. Her arms prickled from the glass all around them and she writhed against her ropes, rubbing them into the shards, wriggling free from the frayed ends finally as it became harder and harder to breathe. Alfred's hands found her face in the semi-dark and she moaned as his fingers touched her bruised cheeks.

"Oh, Miss Molly. I'm so sorry. I'll take the tape off?"

She nodded violently and a second later she could breathe easily again, gasping in huge lungful of the polluted air.

"What's happened?" she managed to ask just before the pandemonium around them renewed. Alfred only shook his head and covered her body with his, keeping them still and close to the floor and Molly didn't ask anymore questions, understanding that now they needed to wait things out. Now came the surviving.

* * *

**AN: If y'all would leave me a cookie, that would be *great*.**


	18. Chapter 18

**I don't own any part of the Batman franchise, all rights to whomever and I make no money off this fic. The oc of Molly is entirely mine, however. :D**

**AN: Yeah, sorry for making you wait! Sorry! I hope you like this bit, anyhow. I will try not to make you wait so long again. Urgh. Forgive me, please? **

* * *

The minute Alfred had pressed the panel to open the hidden door Bruce had finally sprung into action. Despite the blood in his eyes and the roaring in his ears he'd dispatched at least one of the goons holding him down and managed to reach the access panel himself, in time to grab a handful of batarangs and fling them out across the room. Alfred, bless him, knew what was coming and had the sense to stay down and keep Molly down with him. The small shuriken swept across the space and Bruce was gratified to hear the thud of a second goon hitting the floor. With a second handful, as swiftly delivered, another man dropped and then Bruce was confident he'd have time to get changed. He was just creeping further into the secret room when hands grabbed him from behind and he was caught in a struggle with another man, this one still armed. He felt cold steel biting into his neck and knew that if this were another time, if he were another man, he might not have known what to do, or how to handle it.

Instead, he was the Batman and he could still hear the soft whimpers of Molly as Alfred tended to her as best he could and he knew that the man holding the gun to his neck was going to wish he'd stayed home. With a roar of rage, he twisted about faster than the man could react and in seconds he'd wrenched the gun from the man's grasp and thrown it away, heard it skittering across the floor harmlessly.

"Who sent you?" he asked, his voice dropping into that of the Batman. He didn't need a mask to be terrifying. His training, his riches, his power…they were enough and the vice-like grip of his arm around the man's neck helped some as well to force the man into submission, to make him cower in fear.

"No one!" the man tried to growl in reply, but Bruce tightened his hold and twisted the man's arm until it strained in its socket. "No one!" the man screamed this time and Bruce shook his head.

"Was it Vodyanoy?" he hissed in the man's ear, pulling harder, twisting farther. The man whined and gasped, intense pain clouding his vision.

"Vodyanoy," he murmured in response – half answer, half question, but telling Bruce all he needed to know.

"I'm going to let you live," Bruce hissed. "And I want you to tell this Vodyanoy something. I want you to tell him that Bruce Wayne suffers no man's arrogance. Understand?"

Barely a sigh answered him, the man was so desperate for escape, so deprived of oxygen and Bruce repeated himself once, then abruptly let the man go, throwing him to the floor. The man lay there unmoving and Bruce turned back to the wall and entered swiftly, prepared to change. It would take the Batman to get them out of the city now- he knew there was bound to be a second wave of intruders and he knew they'd have just minutes to escape. He wasn't too worried if batarangs were found floating around the penthouse upon their escape- it would be fairly obvious that Batman had aided them. As for tipping off Vodyanoy, the criminal already knew that Batman was connected with Bruce, somehow. And none of the goons would make the connection between Batman's appearance and Bruce because he'd just made it obvious that he knew how to defend himself as well.

As he went down his mental checklist of safeties and covers, of making sure he'd worked out every possible outcome, he slipped the layers of his armor on with practiced ease. He grunted slightly from the stiffness he'd sustained with the brutal beating and he could feel blood sliding beneath the suit here and there in an irritating trickle, but it had to be born. He could hear Alfred calling to him, concerned about something – Molly, of course – but he had just a few more pieces to fit before he'd be bullet proof. Before he'd be able to carry them both to safety, far from the city. He stayed where he was and willed his fingers to work faster.

* * *

From her place on the floor with Alfred's arms keeping her down, keeping her still, Molly could hear all sorts of things. One ear was pressed to the floor while the other was up and picking up every displaced sound that filtered through the roar of her own blood and Alfred's ponderous breathing. She was worried about him. She could feel a dampness along her skin that was sticky and she knew that either Alfred had been injured badly, or her own wound had reopened. Probably both, judging from how the thugs had treated them.

She could hear someone still creeping about in the dark and the rustle of fabric and metal. Something was happening all around her, but she couldn't see a thing, not with her hair in her face and the bay of windows open on a cloudy night sky. She shifted some and heard Alfred's breath hitch.

"Alfred?" she whispered. Not hearing an immediate response and knowing her own voice was a wreck, she called out again. "Bruce? Bruce! It's Alfred…" She nudged him slightly and swiftly realized that he was no longer trying to hold her down, but that his weight was a dead one. Either he'd passed out, or…she tried not to think about it and listened for his breathing again. Yes, there it was. Weak, but still there. He was alive, thank god. Molly shifted again and heard a few groans just yards away. So, the thugs weren't dead, merely…disabled. She didn't want to think about what had happened to them. If it was the Batman, that meant more danger was coming. If it was Bruce, a man she'd just begun to trust, maybe even love…she shook her head violently. No, she couldn't think of it. She needed to focus on getting up, on phoning for help, on something, anything! She was lying there helpless, waiting to be rescued when she knew the truth: sometimes the princess didn't get rescued. Sometimes no one heard you scream except the thing that was making you scream.

Molly pushed herself up on her forearms, Alfred's arms sliding from around her and she stopped to listen again. Still breathing, still alive. But so were the goons, and so was whatever was in the penthouse with them. That quiet rustling frightened her. It sounded so much like a man, crawling into a bed in the dark heart of the night. The evil heart. Shivering and feeling the beginning of shock, Molly pushed herself up further and looked around, letting her eyes adjust. She needed a plan, she needed to be prepared to defend herself and Alfred with the last of her strength. She needed – a gun. Just ahead of her, lying on the floor, discarded and begging to be taken. She stretched one hand forward and felt her fingers close around the cool grip, felt the dying heat of a weapon that had already been fired once that night.

She heaved and swallowed hard against the bile that rose in her throat. She couldn't do this, she couldn't raise a weapon the way those monsters had – beside her, Alfred shifted and groaned and she swallowed again. She could do this. She had to. There was no telling where Bruce was, if he was even still alive, and that monster was coming for her, just like he had all those years ago. Only this time, he'd already taken everything she valued. Her childhood, her innocence, the chance at a family, her family's safety, and the safety of her students. Her students were her children and he was threatening them now, had killed one already. Tony, she thought, and when the elevator pinged and the doors opened on another set of dark figures, outlined perfectly by the illumination from the elevator, she fired without hesitation.

* * *

Bruce heard the elevator, heard the gun go off and he raced from the closet in time to see Molly pull the trigger a second, fatal time. Two dark figures slumped to the floor while a third desperately pressed at the buttons, firing blindly into the room in response. Bruce rushed forward as the gun fell from Molly's grasp and she finally collapsed, unable to protect herself and Alfred against the sudden gunfire.

"No," Bruce whispered and was at her side quickly, sheltering the two people he cared for most in his life, his body armor and cape deflecting the rain of bullets. When the elevator doors slid shut on the attack, there was time to lift her up, to hear Alfred's groans and realize that it hadn't been his butler calling to him, it had been Molly. Molly, who had just shot two men. Who had saved her and Alfred's lives while he'd dawdled getting into his damn suit.

"Alfred," he whispered and heard the man groan again. He reached a hand out to him and heard him finally mutter real words.

"Master Bruce?"

"It's the Batman," he answered. "I have Molly. I need to get you both out of here. Can you stand?"

"I can…try," Alfred responded and Bruce didn't wait for him, simply began running the harness around them both, anchoring them to his suit.

"The elevator is blocked," he murmured. "I have to repel with you. Hang on." He finished fastening them up and then turned where he crouched, Alfred helping as much as he could, Molly shivering uncontrollably, and took aim at the window. His repelling gun went off with a bang in the quiet penthouse and he thanked god he'd remembered to open the window beforehand. Then, with a final look down at his precious cargo, he hefted Molly up, felt Alfred tighten his grip as much as he could, straightened up, and jogged for the window.

He heard his butler's quick intake of breath as they hovered on the edge of the wide bay for only a second before they were soaring out over the city – and then they began to drop. Bruce muttered desperate commands into his mouthpiece, his super computer doing the rest of the work as he frantically tried to slow their descent. The rope caught, held taut, and his feet stepped quickly across the glass of the building's side, absorbing the shock of their sudden drop. Damn it! He'd overshot the limits of his technology; their combined weight and the force of their descent was too much for the grappling gun's resistance. If he didn't get them back on the ground or inside the building they'd be dead in less than a minute. A minute…unless he'd miscalculated again. One minute to get them to safety before the gun's hooks gave out.

Bruce inhaled sharply and hefted their bodies up again, unfortunately aggravating the wounds of his precious cargo.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred groaned, unable to help himself and Bruce grit his teeth.

"Sorry, Alfred. And try not to call me that."

"My…apologies. I forgot myself…it seems," Alfred gasped and Bruce nearly laughed as he heard the dry sarcasm in his friend's voice. He squeezed Alfred closer and heard the other man murmur something.

"What's that?" he managed to ask as he felt the rope give a few more feet and they slid along the outside of the building. He grunted and caught them up short.

"Miss Molly," Alfred said. "She's not…breathing."

Bruce swore and allowed himself a glance at her. The rope continued to slide through his hands, inch by inch. He spoke a few brisk commands to his computer and felt heat bloom through his suit.

"She's in shock," Bruce muttered, easing their descent a few more feet. "I can only keep her warm right now."

"You can't carry us both," Alfred managed to whisper and heard the boy he'd cared for in his waning years catch his breath. "It's true," he prompted. The Batman shook his head fiercely and grasped the rope tighter.

"You didn't see the latest innovations Lucius made, did you?" he groaned, catching them up short against the side of the building again. He winced and Alfred looked up at him as best he could.

"Why, did he finally invent a miracle worker?"

"He is a miracle worker," Bruce retorted.

And then the rope gave way entirely.

For a glorious second, Bruce remembered what it was like to fly, what his first time as the Batman, with wings spread and arms reaching, had been like. What he'd felt as he'd leaped off that building, with nothing but air above him and ground below and the thinnest material keeping him aloft. It had been a miracle then. It was one now.

Except now he also had the two most important people in the world attached to his sides and instead of that miracle of flight, of gliding along the uppermost streams of air over the wide city in the darkest night, he was dropping like a stone.

And Lucius saved his life again.

He heard the jet before he felt the impact, the quiet, high-pitched whine of the stealth engines filling his ears through the enhanced audio, crackling to life and filling his mind as he rolled across the hood of the vehicle, curling his arms about Molly and Alfred and protecting them as all three rolled right into the open hatch. On autopilot, being run from miles away by the supercomputer, the jet banked as it picked up its passengers, and evened out as it slowly gained altitude above the city skyline.

The impact wasn't soft by any means, but it beat hitting the pavement at sixty miles an hour. Bruce quickly scrambled to his knees, releasing Alfred and then Molly from his harness. Alfred lay back against the wall of the tiny space, catching his breath, while Bruce quickly propped Molly into the single jump seat and settled an oxygen mask over her mouth. To his relief, her eyelashes fluttered lightly and she let out a few weak coughs before her head lolled back. Her breathing remained shallow, though and Bruce could see by the blinking lights of the cockpit that a red stain was spreading across her nightshirt.

He turned to Alfred, prepared to minister to him as well, but the old man pushed him away.

"Get us home, Master Bruce," he murmured. "That's what both of us need right now."

Bruce didn't hesitate, just rested a hand briefly on Alfred's shoulder, then he turned and slid into the pilot's seat. He muttered a few more commands to the computer and control of the jet was suddenly back in his hands. Pulling hard on the wheel, he drew them higher up, just in case Vodyanoy had better technology than they'd suspected, and then drove the speed up several knots. The course was already plotted, but Bruce kept his eyes glued to the controls, watching for any and every little thing that could go wrong – partly because he was a natural control freak and partly because, well, it kept him from thinking too much about everything that had just happened. The most important thing was that Molly and Alfred were alive and he was getting them all to safety – and Vodyanoy wouldn't trace her, not for a few days, at least. That would buy the Batman time to finish the bastard off. He'd speak with the commissioner; make sure that while Bruce and Alfred's rescue would be obvious, no one would know what had happened to Molly. He would hide her, even from the police, if that's what it took to keep her safe.

Some small amount of calm descended on the cabin and the jet continued its easy flight home to the mansion where everything that was important in Bruce's life had begun…including Molly. He was in love with her. He'd do anything for her, including kill a man.

Including forgive her for killing.

* * *

**AN: Duh duh duuuuunh! Nah, you know they'll all be fine. ...or will they? ;)**


End file.
